


blame it on the stardust

by besidethesea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (no promises that it'll be good smut but i will try my best), Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco is really fucking dumb okay forgive him, Draco works at a secondhand/repair shop, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, HP: EWE, Luna ~knows~ things, M/M, Matchmaking, Movie Dates, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Not Epilogue Compliant, Professor-in-training Harry Potter, Quidditch, Supportive Narcissa Malfoy, Three Wishes, Unrequited Love, Wishes, but not in detail, mentions of mpreg, original greek myths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-12-19 15:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11900643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidethesea/pseuds/besidethesea
Summary: Draco Malfoy wants three things: to have the Dark Mark off of his skin, for his mother to be able to travel out in public without being spat on or shouted at, and to have Harry Potter be as madly in love with Draco as he is with him.All of these things are impossible, he knows, but still he wishes.Then, a mysterious old woman walks into Curios with an equally as mysterious locket: it's called a Cosmic Locket, Artemis' Locket, and it has the power to grant whoever possess it three wishes.So, the question is, what will Draco Malfoy wish for?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a little idea and has quickly taken flight. I'm a little rusty with writing--and especially with writing Harry Potter fanficion (and especially, especially with writing DRARRY fanfiction) so take it easy on me please. Anyway, the italicized lyrics at the very beginning of the chapter are my own creation, as is the Greek myth with Artemis. So, please, no stealing. 
> 
> Title is taken from the song 'Hymn' by Kesha (it's from her new album, Rainbow, and if you haven't listened to that album yet GO AND DO IT NOW WHILE YOU READ THIS because it's amazing. I love Kesha, she's a peach).
> 
> Enjoy the story! Comments, bookmarks, and kudos are appreciated! Share the love xx

Draco flicked ash off the end of his cigarette, letting the smoke he’d just inhaled fill his lungs. Behind him, the door that lead back into the Dragonheart String rumbled with the beat of Fated’s latest single, ‘Vanish My Love For You’. 

 

_ “My heart beats with longing _

_ Whenever you’re near _

_ Oh, Circe, I wish you were here _

_ Come under the moon _

_ Come under the moon _

_ Please help vanish my love for you” _

 

Suddenly, the door behind Draco’s back swung forward and sent him stumbling, his cigarette falling from his fingers in the process. “Buggering fuck--” Draco began, swinging around and preparing to unleash vengeance on the intruder, only for his words to get caught in his throat at the sight that beheld him.

 

Two bodies stumbled out of the bar, entwined like a pair of snakes and joined at the lips. As it most often was at Dragonheart String, the pair were both blokes; and it was the presence of the one being pressed against the back of the building that had Draco’s heart pounding within his ribcage. The hair was unmistakeable, the color of coals in a long dwindled firebed, as were the wire framed glasses digging into the young man’s nose. Draco let out a strangled noise that finally caught the attention of the two. “Malfoy?” 

 

Potter’s green eyes were wide with surprise and murky with drink, a combination that sent a tingle down Draco’s spine. He mentally shook himself from that train of thought, he’d left those fantasies behind in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory. Draco managed a nod, more a spasmodic jerk of his head than anything, really, and muttered back, “Potter.”

 

The other bloke, an attractive young man with dirty blonde hair and deep brown eyes, stepped away from Potter and, instead of full on molesting him, slipped an arm around the slightly shorter mans’ waist. Recognition shown in his eyes when he looked at Draco, who was unsurprised to also see slight disgust and suspicion as well. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?” He spat, pulling Potter closer as if Draco were about to jump forward and snatch him from the blokes’ arms. “The Dragonheart String can’t be so desperate for business that it’s started allowing  _ your kind  _ through the door.”

 

“Aaron!” Potter hissed, looking at his partner with surprise and--dare Draco hope?--anger. 

 

“No bother, Potter,” Draco muttered, not allowing his voice to shake in the way it wanted to. He was stronger now. He’d survived the war, the trials, his six month house arrest and magic probation; he could certainly withstand a childish verbal spar with Potter’s little fanboy. He tilted his head to the side, not so subtly looking the stranger over, and fixed a small smirk upon his lips. “Seems to me,” he began. “That my kind is the same as yours. Or were you not just snogging a man a minute ago?”

 

The man, Aaron, flushed red with anger and took a step away from Potter, who reached out his arms to grab him if need be. Draco watched this with his smirk still in place; this Aaron must have been a Gryffindor once, he was much too easy to rile up. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he muttered dangerously. “ _ Death Eater scum! _ ”

 

Draco’s smile was wiped from his face to be replaced by a vicious scowl. Potter chose this moment to finally step forward, wrapping his arms around his partner’s waist and not so subtly pulling him towards the door. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” he said sternly. Draco flicked his eyes away from Aaron to Potter, taking in the thick line of his furrowed brow and the harsh twist to his mouth. He’d seen that look directed towards him too many times in his life to count, so he shifted his gaze to the ground where his cigarette lay, smashed and forgotten. “See you later, Malfoy.”

 

Draco watched Potter guide Aaron, who was still visibly angry, through the door back into the Dragonheart String. He said nothing in return, until the door closed behind them and he turned to press his back to it once more. “Yeah,” he whispered, pulling out his pack of B&H’s and slipping another cigarette between his teeth, lighting it with the tip of his wand. “See you later, Potter.”

 

**& &&**

 

Curios was a charming little shop in Muggle London, nestled between a small supermarket and an abandoned laundromat. Despite its location, the shop was Wizard owned and served both magical and Muggle customers; receiving objects from both worlds to either be sold, bought, or refurbished and fixed. Draco had stumbled upon it by chance on one of his first days out of his flat since moving in after his house arrest at the Manor. He’d been immediately attracted by the display of Muggle telly-visions in the window and the sweet aroma of magic in the air. The owner of the shop was an older man named Lionel Maris, who happened to be a Squib. The portly old man took an instant shine to Draco, to the latter's’ pleasant surprise. He’d started work the very next day and was still there nearly ten months later. 

 

On this particular day in late August, Draco was in the back room working on a old witchs’ family clock. The hands were made of twisted metal, made to look like vines, the face a grand oak with moving pictures of family members scattered amongst the branches, and the dark wooden body of the clock was itself carved to look like an oak. When it chimed the hour, the birds carved into the wood chattered and hopped about the branches and counted along ( _ one, two, three, four… _ ). It was a curious little thing, a piece that helped give the shop its name, and Draco loved it. It’d ended up in the shop due to a case of accidental magic from the witch’s grandson, who sent the hands spinning uncontrollably and the birds chirping and skipping nonstop. 

 

He held his wand over the windup box in the back of the clock and murmured protective incantations and clockwork charms under his breath. When he was done, Draco flipped the clock over, opened the clock face, and moved the hands until it chimed the hour perfectly. “There you go, lovely,” he whispered reverently, a grin on his face. “Good as new.” At the front of the store, the bell above the door rang and Draco sat the clock gently on a shelf behind the workbench before wiping his hands off on his apron and making his way towards the floor. “Welcome to Curios,” he began, running the back of his hand over his perspiring forehead. “What can I help you with?”

 

An elderly woman was entering the shop. She was dressed in a denim skirt, a purple paisley top, bright yellow wellies, and wore a large brimmed hat adorned with holly on top of her head. A rather large carpet bag hung from one arm, while in the other she held a wooden cane with a bird carved into the handle. To any Muggle passing by on the street outside, she would seem rather odd, but to Draco it was quite obvious that she was a normal witch; if a bit eccentric with her tastes. “I’ve a trinket I wish to sell,” the older woman rasped as she walked up to the counter that Draco now stood behind. She heaved her giant bag up and plopped it down on the glass top with a hefty rattle and clang that echoed throughout the front room. 

 

“What type of trinket, madam?” Draco inquired, watching curiously as the woman began to dig within the bag. An Undetectable Extension Charm seemed to have been applied to it, for the witch’s arm disappeared up the the shoulder. 

 

She was silent a moment, huffing and puffing as she dug through the items in the bag, before she yanked her arm out with a mighty  _ CRASH  _ and let out a triumphant, “Aha! Gotcha, you cheeky bugger!”

 

She held out to him, then, a small golden locket shaped like an acorn and no bigger than a sickle. It was engraved with small swirls that cut through the metal to show an iridescent mother-of-pearl interior. When he reached out to rest it in his hand, he felt the faint pulse of magical energy within it which sent tingles through his fingers. “What is it?” He asked, turning it over in his hand and stroking over the latch that held the lid of the locket closed.

 

“A Cosmic Locket, or Artemis’ Locket, if you will,” the old woman answered, watching Draco examine the trinket. “Been in me family for ages, but I’ve no use for it now. No wee ones of me own, so I thought it best to sell it.”

 

Draco nodded along, still entranced. “What does it do?” He looked up into the old womans' eyes as she let out a little laugh. She pulled it gently from his fingers and turned it over in her own frail hands.

 

“Legend says,” she replied. “That Artemis herself plucked an acorn from a tree and washed it in a river, until the rushing water brushed away the outside shell and left behind a golden cage. She then gathered around her the most beautiful, wonderful, stars and took from them each a sample of stardust and sprinkled it into the cage, covering the inside with their iridescence.” As she explained, the old woman opened the locket to show off the gleaming interior to Draco. “Of course, with the creation of such a beautiful object, and one made by a goddess, no less, many thieves began to get curious; as rumor had it that the locket could grant one any number of wishes. One such curious man was Cosmos, a hunter from eastern Greece, who plotted to steal the locket from the Goddess Artemis.”

 

At this point, Draco was swimming in curiosity. He leaned against the glass counter towards the woman to listen more closely. “He hid in the trees one night as Artemis and her ladies lay sleeping in the brush. Cosmos, being a skilled hunter, crept into the small camp and stole the locket from around Artemis’ very own neck before fleeing into the night. When the goddess woke and realized the mortals' theft, she grabbed her bow and quiver and took off after him; her heels barely licking the earth as she ran. By the time Artemis had caught up to him, Cosmos had already begun to make his wishes, but stopped in fright at the sight of the immortal woman. 

 

“ _‘By all means,’_ she spoke, lowering her bow and quiver. _‘Continue wishing, child.’_ Cosmos, blinded by his greed, was unable to hear the foreboding in Artemis’ voice. He continued to wish; for a fortune as vast as that of a kings', for the death of his greatest enemy, a man who had stolen the woman he loved, and, lastly, for that same woman to love him as dearly as he loved her. But, before he could get the last words out, Artemis moved as quick as one of her fathers’ lightning bolts and shot an arrow straight into Cosmos’ heart, killing him instantly. Artemis then retrieved her locket and went on her way; and since that day any person who possess this locket is granted three wishes,  _ and only three _ , in their lifetime, unless they wanted to unleash the wrath of the goddess for trying to trick her.”

 

Draco blinked at the note of finality in the womans’ voice and looked up from where he’d been staring at the Cosmic Locket to see her eyeing him with a small smile on her face. He shook himself from his daze and stood to his full height, fixing a neutral expression upon his face. “Is that a true story?” He questioned suspiciously. 

 

She laughed, a rough cackle that echoed throughout the store. “As true as it can be, being passed down for generations,” she replied jovially. “Now, is the proprietor about, I’d like to quarrel about a price now, if you don’t mind dearie?”

 

The old woman bent forward to look behind the counter, as if Lionel would be crouched on the floor, staring up at her. Draco, before he could even control himself, threw out his arms to keep her back. “I’ll take it!” He cried, his mind already racing with the possibilities.  _ A locket that could grant his any wish? How could he get this lucky?  _ “500 galleons!”

 

Surprised, the woman blinked at him, the locket still suspended from her hand. Then, slowly, a smile began to take shape upon her lips. “Are you positive, love?” She asked, looking down at the trinket and caressing the gold gently. “Such an object can cause quite a bit of trouble, you know? Part of the reason I’m selling it; I don’t want anyone breaking into my home in the middle of the night to slit my throat and steal it. I’m an old woman, love, and I’ve seen a lot of bad things happen because of this locket. I don’t want you to take it if you’re not entirely, absolutely, positive that you want it and are prepared to use it responsibly.”

 

Draco swallowed at the serious look in her eye. He couldn't help but to think that she figured he wanted to use it for nefarious purposes; for example: bringing back his fathers’ dead Lord, killing every Muggle outside on the street, or making himself Minister of Magic and decreeing the destruction of every Muggleborns’ wand. “I’m positive,” he said, trying to sound it. “I promise to Merlin and Circe and, hell, even Artemis that my interest is innocent and mostly to do with curiosity. I’d like to take a look at the charmswork put into the locket,” he explained.

 

“Well,” she laughed. “Look all you like, but you won’t find anything. I told you, dearie, that locket is goddess made. A type of magic you won’t find about these days, goddess magic is.” A moment passed, two, where Draco bit his lip in a most uncouth way with anxiety whilst he watched the witch contemplate her decision. Finally, she met his eyes once more and sighed. “Very well, dear, I see you won’t back down and, quite frankly, I could use the 500 galleons. But,” she stuck a finger into his face as he grinned and reached for the locket she had held close to her chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when something starts going astray. Keep your wits about you, love, and don’t go wishing willy-nilly. Understood?”

 

He nodded. “Understood.” And, with one more quelling look straight into his eyes, the woman dropped the locket into his cupped hands and then waited while Draco went to the back to grab the money from his robe pocket. “There you go,” he breathed, handing the money over. “500 galleons.”

 

The old woman smiled warmly and tucked the money away before, to Draco’s surprise, she reached out to pat him affectionately on the cheek. “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Malfoy, best of luck to you.”

 

“Er, you as well, madam,” he replied, after a moment's hesitation, but the witch was gone; already out the door and vanished into the crowd of Muggles.

 

Draco sighed and looked down at the locket in his hand, feeling the pulse of what was, apparently, goddess magic against his palm. He felt his heart stutter in his chest in reply, closing his fingers around the locket.  _ Here,  _ he thought with a desperate hope,  _ was the answer to all of his problems. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, just, wow. I'm completely blown away with the positive attention this story has generated. Thank you so much, everyone, for your wonderful comments and lovely kudos! I hope this chapter meets your expectations! :))

Draco sat on the back of his couch, watching the scene before him play out in front of his marble fireplace. He grabbed a handful of sour cream and onion crisps from the giant bag resting in Greg’s lap as Pansy shouted to Blaise, “Your form is completely off, you absolute berk!”

 

“I am trying the best I can, Pansy dearest,” the dark-skinned young man huffed from his backwards bridged position above a giggling Daphne Greengrass and below a smirking Millicent Bulstrode. “You try this blasted Muggle game and see how hard it is!”

 

“If you lose this round, I’ll have to,” Pansy replied haughtily, flipping her shoulder length hair dramatically. “Obviously your team is shit; Draco and Greg are no help.”

 

Draco laughed along with everyone else at his expense. It was true, though he was the one who owned the game and had played it before with Desmond and Penelope--a Muggle couple that Draco had met when they came in the shop one day and had struck up a friendship with surprisingly quickly--Draco was terrible at Twister. He had near perfect balance on a broom, and exceptional balance that befit a Malfoy on his own two feet, but put him on all fours in just his socks on a slippery game mat and he was like a newborn fawn. He’d been the first to go from his team, leaving Greg and Blaise squashed between Daphne, Millie, and Daphne’s younger sister Astoria. Draco didn’t miss the shy glances the latter kept sending him as time went on, but pretended not to notice in order to prevent a confrontation. He was rubbish with women, not surprisingly, especially when it came to telling them their feelings would never be reciprocated, because he was extremely, terrifically, gay. 

 

The three on the Twister mat stood quaking for another few minutes, until Blaise let out an almighty groan and, with a loud “bugger this!” let himself drop to the side of where Daphne was positioned. Simultaneously, Daphne and Millie stood, cheering--Millie with less exuberance than Daphne, but still with excitement--and Astoria joined them in celebrating. Pansy sighed and shook her head at the sight of her boyfriend still spread eagle on the floor, then put her face in her hands. 

 

“Why am I dating someone who lets himself get beaten at  _ Twister _ by a bunch of girls?” She moaned, dropping sideways to lean against Draco’s knee.

 

He patted her hair absently, reaching for the bag of crisps again. Greg was hogging them, ignoring everyone while he stuffed his face with the snack and flipped through one of Draco’s  _ Bewitching Homes and Gardens  _ magazines that had been left on the coffee table. “Because he’s a damn good shag, apparently,” Draco answered, successfully grabbing the bag out of Greg’s lap just as the other boy went to put his hand down into it. Greg’s eyebrows furrowed into a slight scowl, which quickly turned into a smile when Draco rolled his eyes and handed back the bag. “And you’d be even more of a bitch without your daily shag.”

 

Pansy hummed, pinching behind his knee and causing him to jump and lose all his crisps, to Greg’s obvious delight; the young man snickered and hid his face in the mag in order to try and hide it. “Fuck you, darling, that’s for calling me a bitch. But you’re right, Blaise is a fantastic fuck.”

 

“Oi!” Blaise protested from the floor, sitting up on his elbows. Daphne, Millie, and Astoria had all disappeared into the kitchen to supposedly get more refreshments. “I’m right here, you know, and I don’t appreciate you talking about our sex life in front of our friends.”

 

“Oh, hush,” Pansy scoffed. “You love it, you pervert. Some of the best sex we’ve had is due to me stroking your, ahem,  _ ego  _ in public.”

 

Blaise couldn’t argue with that and Draco and Greg shared a quiet laugh behind Pansy’s back. The pair had been dating since the winter of seventh year, when they leaned on each other during the war and discussed each of their decisions during it. Pansy, left at Hogwarts on her own, and Blaise off in Italy with his mother and her lover-of-the-month. They’d corresponded through coded letters throughout that terrible year and finally got a chance to be together after the war. Draco was happy for the pair, who had been dancing around each other ever since Pansy had realized that what she felt for Draco was fleeting compared to what she felt for Blaise and the latter boy had gotten his head out of his arse and admitted to himself he fancied Pansy. 

 

Blaise had pulled himself up and was now sitting between Pansy’s legs, his head resting on her lap as she ran her hand over the short, coarse, hair atop his head. “I’m going to get another drink,” Draco said to Greg, swinging his legs over the back of the couch and standing. “Want anything?”

 

Greg looked down at the dwindling bag of crisps in his lap, looking up at Draco with a smile. “Another bag of crisps would be nice, if you have any.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed the bag, whacking Greg over the head with it as he walked towards his kitchen. He loved his apartment in the center of London; with its tall windows that overlooked Tudor Street, its plush carpeting, and the mix of Georgian and modern decor. The living room walls were painted a calming sky blue, with the plush couch matching and the rest of the furniture a pure white to go with the carpet. The kitchen was spacious, with light olive green walls, ash cabinets, white marble countertops, and modern appliances. Every other room in the flat was left as the interior decorator had designed it, except for Draco’s bedroom and en suite. Those two rooms he’d decorated all by himself; the kitchen and living room had been decorated with assistance from his mother. 

 

Astoria and Millie were exiting the kitchen as Draco walked through the doorway, sipping twin glasses of red wine and chattering about Astoria and Daphne’s trip to Spain during the beginning of the summer. Draco was left alone with Daphne, who stood searching through the wine cabinet in the pantry. “What? Is my Pinot Noir Rosé not good enough for you, Daphne?” He teased, throwing the empty bag of junk food into the bin and walking to the pantry to retrieve another.

 

She laughed. “Sorry, darling, but I was in the mood for a Muscat Blanc,” Daphne replied, grabbing a bottle from the wine cabinet and magicking the cork from the neck with her wand. Draco quickly summoned two wine glasses from the cabinet above the hob and handed them out to her to fill.

 

“No harm done, then,” Draco replied, lifting his glass to take a sip after she’d filled it. Daphne put the bottle of white wine back and then the two of them left the pantry to take a seat around the dining table in the middle of the kitchen. They could hear another round of Twister starting up in the living room, with Pansy delegating everyone to their proper places. “Your sister’s been shooting me what she thinks are subtle glances all night,” Draco brought up without any segway.

 

Daphne sighed, “Bless her, the poor lovesick fool.” 

 

“You haven’t told her...about me, have you?” Draco asked cautiously, ripping open the crisp bag and munching on the salt and vinegar potato crisps. 

 

“Of course not,” Daphne retorted, furrowing her brows. “It’s not my place to tell, Draco.”

 

He nodded, appreciating the thought. “You could, if you wanted to. I mean, it might be better coming from you, since you’re her sister.”

 

Daphne chuckled and sipped from her wine glass. “You’re just scared to tell her yourself, because you’re afraid she’ll curse you.”

 

“Not true,” he replied weakly. Upon seeing the disbelieving look that Daphne gave him, Draco reconsidered. “Alright, slightly true, but in my defense, she’s  _ your  _ sister. There’s no knowing what she’s capable of behind that sweet appearance.”

 

Daphne nodded. “True,” she agreed, before quickly changing the subject. “So, any luck with meeting someone?”

 

A very un-Malfoy-like snort escaped Draco, who tried to hide it by taking another drink from his wine glass. “About as well as you’d expect,” he replied. “No one at the Dragonheart String wants to get off with a well-known Death Eater. I’m resigned to my fate and the fact that all I’ll be receiving nowadays are one offs with Muggles.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Daphne protested. “You’ll meet a nice bloke someday who’ll be able to look past that blasted Mark on your arm. Your past does not define you, Draco, quit trying to make it so.”

 

A pregnant silence followed her statement and Draco sat thinking over her words as he drank heavily from his glass. He thought of the Cosmic Locket, tucked away in the drawer of his nightstand in his bedroom, and what he could achieve with such a powerful object. He could completely rewrite his past, change his decisions then into ones he would be proud of now. Draco paused with his wine glass halfway to his lips, eyes widening in realization.  _ That’s it!  _ The Mark on his arm sent phantom tingles up his nerves, as if sensing his forming plan. “Daphne,” he breathed, meeting the eyes of one of his closest friends. “You’re bloody brilliant.”

  
  


She blinked at him in surprise, before a crooked smile swept across her lovely mouth. “Well, of course I am, darling,” she preened. “Now, I’m going to rejoin the party in the living room. Feel free to come socialize after you’re finished with whatever epiphany you’ve just had.” She stood and rounded the table, placing a loud, wet kiss on the crown of his head and then exiting the kitchen. Draco just sat, staring at the grey timber of the tabletop with wide eyes. The noise of his friends laughing in the living room was background noise to him, the sound of them living on whilst his entire existence shattered right before his very eyes.

 

**& &&**

 

Later that evening, after everyone had been ushered through the Floo or the front door to head to their homes, Draco sat at his kitchen table nursing a tumbler of Ogden’s Best as he stared morosely at the Cosmic Locket resting before him. He’d lost track of how long he’d sat there, eyeing the object that had the power to remake him. The sky outside had long turned black, the lights of London hiding any hint of the constellations his mothers’ family was so fond of. That was the one thing he missed most about life at the Manor, being able to stare up at the stars unhindered, connecting Ursa Major and Minor and hunting down Cassiopeia and Pegasus. Narcissa used to take him out into the garden, long after his father had retired, with a picnic prepared by the house elves and a charmed telescope that had been a wedding gift from her mother to point them out to him. He’d cherished those moments while they lasted, but found as soon as he was old enough to realize his fathers’ Lord was returning that some things were more important and the tradition had quickly been forgotten in favor of hiding in the Manor and serving Lucius’ master. 

 

Draco downed the rest of his Firewhiskey, enjoying the way it burned down his throat, and swiped the locket from the table. Running his fingers over the golden exterior, Draco thought.  _ What would he wish for first?  _ He wondered, eyes gleaming with all the possibilities laid out before him. Sure, he could jump right in and wish to be Minister of Magic, or he could be sensible and start out with something small, like wishing to get the last chicken salad sandwich at Costco for his lunch tomorrow. But, if he were to be honest with himself, what he wanted most was to change himself; and what better way to start than to wish away the Dark Mark marring his left forearm? 

 

Draco set his tumbler aside and cupped the locket in both of his hands, eyeing it suspiciously before he closed his eyes, and wished. “I wish for the Dark Mark to be removed from my arm,” he murmured, feeling foolish yet hopeful. 

 

It began slowly, as just a tingle in the tips of his fingers, before building momentum and force. Draco hissed violently, clutching his left arm, and stood up so quickly from the table that his chair screeched back and fell to the floor. It felt as if someone had poured fire down his veins and shot a Stinging Hex to his nerves; he let out a cry of pain as the sensation sent him to his knees. With a sense of desperation, Draco pushed back the long sleeve of his sleep shirt and stared in horrified wonder at what he saw. The Dark Mark was bubbling on his skin and glowing red and, as he watched, it slowly began to fade from his skin. First the snakes’ head, then the body, before the magic slunk over the entire tattoo and the skull disappeared completely. The pain was still there, but lessening, and Draco felt tears of relief for more than one reason begin to fall down his cheeks. For the first time in nearly three years, the skin of his left forearm was unmarred; the Dark Mark had vanished. 

 

“Merlin’s saggy pants,” Draco breathed, raising a shaking hand to the arm and hovering it over the smooth skin. “It actually fucking worked.”

 

He picked himself up off the floor and stared at the locket that had fallen to the tabletop. He’d had his doubts when the old woman first began to explain the locket’s power, but now all those doubts had flew out of his mind like a brisk autumn wind. Draco stood, staring, for a long moment and was only broken from his reverie when a gentle tapping came from the window above his kitchen sink.

 

He jumped out of his thoughts and quickly rounded the table to let the owl in, wondering who could possibly sending him post at this time of night. He nearly swallowed his tongue in shock after seeing the handwriting on the letter. The owl gave an indignant hoot when Draco took too long to Summon a treat for him from the pantry, but then settled on the windowsill, happy to munch on the treat and wait for a reply.

 

Draco opened the letter, and read:

 

_ Malfoy- _

 

_ I was wondering if you could possibly spare a moment of your time and meet with me tomorrow evening? I have something I wish to discuss with you.  _

 

_ Send your reply via Mercury, please. _

 

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Harry Potter _

 

Draco blinked upon finishing the short letter, completely gobsmacked.  _ What could Potter possibly have to discuss with him?  _ He thought. Despite his misgivings about the situation, Draco gathered a parchment and quill from his junk drawer and carefully wrote out a reply.

 

_ Potter- _

 

_ You’re in luck, tomorrow is my day off. I’m curious as to what you believe we need to discuss. You best make this worth my while, Potter. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Draco Lucius Malfoy _

 

The owl, Mercury, made a sort of humming sound when he saw Draco delicately folding the letter and held out his leg obediently as Draco secured it to him. “Safe travels, mate,” he muttered, scritching the owl at the back of his head and then watching as he took flight out the window. Alone once more, Draco went and picked up the chair he’d occupied previously and then sat back down. This time as he eyed the Cosmic Locket, he Summoned the entire bottle of Firewhiskey and took a sip from it. A bundle of nervous energy had settled in the pit of his stomach at receiving and, subsequently, sending off his reply. He wondered what would occur tomorrow, if Potter was just having a laugh or he really  _ did  _ have something to discuss with Draco. If it was the latter, then  _ what  _ exactly did Potter think they needed to discuss? Draco snorted, tipping Firewhiskey down his throat, the prat was probably worried that Draco would out him to the  _ Prophet  _ after seeing him with his tongue down that bloke Aaron’s throat. As if anyone would believe him.

 

As his eyes caught the gleaming of the locket’s caged interior, Draco scooped it up into his hand once more and let out a humorless laugh. “Potter probably thinks I’m out to ruin his happiness once more,” he intoned darkly. “ _ Precious Potter  _ always getting everything he wants, even a significant other.” Jealousy, hot like a brand to his heart, swept over him and he found himself sneering at the trinket in his hands. “If I were with Potter I’d take him to the best place money could buy, not some sleazy gay bar down Knockturn Alley.” A thought popped into his tipsy head then, a thought that he, if he’d been completely sober, would realize was awful. But, Draco was nearing drunkenness and, therefore, wasn’t the best at deciding between what was a good choice and a bad one. “I wish,” he proclaimed loudly, a slight smirk twisting his lips. “That Harry Potter would fall in love with  _ me _ , Draco Malfoy.”

 

Then, without any hesitation, Draco stood and made his way, wobbling slightly, out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom, leaving the bottle of Firewhiskey and the Cosmic Locket forgotten on the kitchen table.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco stood on the doormat of the flat, clutching the letter he’d received from Potter this morning stating his address. A sense of trepidation tingled down his spine at the thought that he was stood on Harry Potter’s doorstep with no idea of what was to come.  _ What if Potter had invited him over as a prank? What if he was going to tell Draco that the Ministry had changed its mind and he was to be thrown into Azkaban alongside his father?  _ Draco quickly shook those thoughts from his mind before he could work himself up into a panic. He stuffed Potter’s letter into his back pocket and then raised his hand to the door, knocking before he could lose what nerve he had left.

 

“One moment,” a male voice that was decidedly  _ not  _ Potters’, called from behind the door. Draco started worrying that he’d read the address wrong when a very muscular, tall, blonde boy opened the door and met Draco’s eyes. The boys’ brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of him. “Anything I can do for you, mate?”

 

“Um, yes,” Draco stammered, cursing himself when his voice shook a bit. He surreptitiously wiped his sweaty hands off on his denim trousers before continuing. “Is P- _ Harry _ Potter here, by chance?”

 

If possible, the young man seemed to straighten and appear taller. “Who’s askin’?” He questioned gruffly, eyeing behind Draco like someone was about to jump out of the woodwork.

 

“Draco Malfoy?” Draco winced when it came out more like a question, but, luckily, he was saved by Potters’ voice drifting out the open door.

 

“Who is it, Dud?”

 

The blonde young man, Dud, eyed Draco suspiciously as he called over his shoulder. “Some chap called Malfoy!”

 

Draco could hear the smile in his voice as Potter replied, “Oh, brilliant, let him in, then!”

 

Dud turned back to Draco, who gained enough courage to raise a brow imperiously. With obvious hesitation, the young man stepped back and allowed Draco to enter, closing the door behind him.

 

The doorway led into a small living room filled with two brown leather couches with blankets hanging over the back of them, a bookcase stocked with different texts and what Draco recognized as Muggle film cases, and a big coffee table in the center of it all which was cluttered with rolls of parchment, multicolored quills, and textbooks. Potter was leaning against the back of the shorter couch, wearing a pair of grey flannel pajama pants and a blue t-shirt whilst nursing a hot drink cupped in his hands.

 

Upon seeing Draco, Harry smiled. “So, Malfoy you’ve met my cousin Dudley. Dudley, this is Draco Malfoy--we went to school together.”

 

Dudley rounded the other couch and grabbed a black jacket that was laying on the arm of it. “You’re magic too, then?” He asked Draco, eyeing him with new interest.

 

Draco hesitated. It was clear that Dudley was a Muggle and you could never be certain how they would react if they found out about the Wizarding world. Then again, he was Potter’s cousin, if he was to react badly towards magic he most likely wouldn’t be in Potters’ home. “Yes,” Draco answered. “I’m a wizard.”

 

“Huh,” Dudley said, looking Draco over. “I was expecting someone more...medieval looking.”

 

Draco couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, or the smile. “Sorry to disappoint, then.”

 

“Ah, you’re good, mate,” Dudley reassured, before turning to Potter. “Thanks for letting me kip here, Harry. Let me know when you’re free next and we’ll go get lunch or something.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Potter replied. “You’re always welcome, Dud.”

 

Dudley smiled and finally shrugged on the jacket in his hands, before heading towards the door. Draco was quick to move out of his way and, consequently, closer towards Potter. The noise of the door closing behind the young man was the only thing heard in the room for a moment, until Potter finally cleared his throat and nodded towards a doorway to his left. “Want some tea? I’m afraid all I’ve got is Earl Grey, though.”

 

Draco swallowed in order to wet his now rather dry mouth. Potter looked too damn good in flannel pajamas. “Yes,” he answered. “That’d be nice, thank you. I don’t mind Earl Grey.”

 

Potter led him into a cramped kitchen--Draco was beginning to see a pattern, and couldn’t the Savior of the Wizarding World afford a flat that had at least  _ some  _ wiggle room?--and motioned for Draco to sit at a round table shoved against the window. A clear jar held a small bouquet of wildflowers, lilies of the valley, it appeared to be. “A housewarming gift from Luna,” Potter explained when he saw Draco looking at them, handing Draco a blue mug that smelt of Earl Grey. “They’re charmed to never wilt. Milk or sugar?”

 

“Both, please.” 

 

He watched as the sugar dish Levitated from the counter and Potter grabbed the milk from the fridge. They busied themselves with preparing their tea, letting the slightly awkward silence surrounded them. “So, Potter,” Draco finally began, clearing his throat slightly. “I love tea as much as the next Englishman, but I assume that’s not quite what you wanted to discuss.”

 

Potter laughed quietly. “You would assume correctly,” he replied, taking a sip of his tea and then cradling the mug in his hands. A rather heavy sigh then escaped him. “Look, Malfoy, about the other night--”

 

“I haven’t told anyone, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” Draco said defensively. “No one would believe me, anyway, if I did.”

 

“That’s not what I was going to say.” Potter looked to be taken by surprise and, also, strangely pleased. “Though it’s appreciated. Thank you.”

 

Another silence, this one much heavier than the previous, settled around them. Draco felt as if he and Potter were enclosed in a bubble, the outside world unreachable to them until they had resolved whatever was to happen between them. What, exactly, was to happen was still a mystery to Draco.

 

“I’m sorry about Aaron,” Potter spoke suddenly, looking into his mug of tea like its depths held all the answers to his every question. “He’s Muggleborn and his older brother was injured in the Battle of Hogwarts. That’s not really an excuse for how he treated you, though.”

 

“No, it is,” Draco murmured. “I was on the wrong side. He’s every right to be angry.”

 

Potter made a noise of protest. “Not at you. You weren’t the one who hurt his brother.”

 

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, I’m afraid,” Draco said solemnly.

 

“Well, that’s only part of what I wanted to discuss with you,” Potter acquiesced. “What I really wanted to ask is if you’d like to be my boyfriend?”

 

Draco, who’d just taken a rather large gulp of tea, choked and spluttered. “Pardon?”

 

“Er, pretend boyfriend, more like,” Potter rephrased, passing Draco a napkin with an apologetic smile. “I’m trying to come out, you see, and I thought it’d be better received if I were in a healthy, long-lasting, relationship.”

 

“And I was your first choice?” Draco asked, flabbergasted. “Potter, no part of our relationship has been ‘healthy’ for the past eight years!”

 

“Actually, Dean was my first choice,” Potter said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t completely blown up Draco’s mind. “But Seamus is a rather jealous bloke and everyone from Hogwarts knows they’ve always been for each other and no one else.”

 

Draco blinked at this news. He’d had no idea that Thomas and Finnegan were queer; but, now that he thought about it, quite a few things now made sense to him regarding the pair. “What about that Aaron bloke? Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

 

Potter snorted inelegantly. “Merlin, no! Aaron’s just a friend. We meet at Dragonheart String, dance and drink for a bit, then go to one of ours and shag. It’s just a bit of fun.”

 

Draco didn’t quite believe it was “just a bit of fun” for Aaron. Not with the way he’d held onto Potter upon seeing Draco that night. That move had been possessive. A clear sign to tell Draco to back off; luckily for him, Draco had always been good at picking up physical and social cues. “So, you thought,” Draco began slowly, watching Potter blink owlishly from behind his round-framed spectacles. “That pretending to date  _ me _ , would be your best bet?”

 

“It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” Potter laughed. “But, yes, that’s the gist of what I’m saying.”

 

Draco thought it over. A voice deep inside him told him that something wasn’t right.  _ Why would Potter pick  _ **_him_ ** _ of all people? What made Draco the best candidate for a fake boyfriend?  _ Then again, what did Draco have left to lose? It wasn’t like his life wasn’t in shambles already. Again, something niggled at the back of his mind, but Draco shook it off. It was probably nothing, just his conscience telling him what a despicable human being he was being by even considering the offer. He blew out a heavy breath, “So, what would I have to do?”

 

The force of Potter’s smile could have lit the deepest, darkest, depths of the Forbidden Forest. “You’re gonna do it?”

 

“I never said that,” Draco protested, feeling his heart pang with regret when Potter’s mega-watt grin dimmed slightly. “I’d just like to know what I’d have to put up with before I make a final decision.”

 

Potter nodded, understanding. “That makes sense. Well, basically, we just have to act like a couple. Go on dates in public places, hold hands, look sappy; y’know, the usual stuff.”

 

“Sounds simple enough,” Draco murmured whilst his heart did a leap inside his chest. Simple enough for someone who  _ wasn’t  _ stupidly attracted to Potter, but just the mere thought of having someone other than himself in his position at the moment had Draco feeling queasy. He sighed, knowing he’d soon grow to regret this decision, but making it regardless. “Alright, fine, I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

 

“Brilliant!” Potter crowed, grinning, and took a large sip of his tea. “Then we need to come up with a story.”

 

“You mean I can’t just tell people you bribed me with tea?” Draco teased, blushing when he realized the sheer nerve he’d had to do so.

 

Potter laughed, accepting the pleasant ribbing easily. “That could probably be part of it,” he humored. “We could say I invited you over to talk about the War, or our school days, and apologize for things. You accepted and then apologized for being a berk as well and then we had a nice, long chat over a cuppa.”

 

Draco signed in faux disappointment. “A chinwag and a cuppa, the makings of modern romance.”

 

“Like you know much about romance, Malfoy,” Potter snorted, his smile telling Draco that it was playful.  _ Imagine that, _ Draco thought.  _ Harry Potter  _ **_teasing_ ** _ me and me teasing right back. If only my sixteen year old self could see us now.  _

 

“I know a fair bit more than you, apparently, if you have to seek out a pretend partner,” he replied, downing the rest of his tea with a smug smirk.

 

Potter raised a brow and tipped his mug to him before emptying it of its contents as well. “Fair play.”

 

Draco happened to glance down at his watch, then, and cursed at the time he saw. “Shite, I’m running late,” he grumbled, setting his mug down on the table and standing. He looked to Potter, who was frowning in confusion, and winced. “I’m terribly sorry for cutting this meeting short,” he said cordially, trying his best to fuze the signature Malfoy mask back upon his face. “But I’m afraid I made dinner plans that I’m unable to reschedule. Thank you for your hospitality.” He allowed a small smile to grace his lips. “And the lovely cuppa. I’ll be in touch.”

 

Potter scrambled to get up as Draco made his way towards the living room, walking him to the door in a surprising (to Draco, at least) show of proper etiquette. “You’re welcome, Malfoy, though I should be the one thanking you,” said Potter, pursing his lips in a smile. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me just yet, Potter,” replied Draco, smirking. “If you prove to be quite as dreadful a boyfriend to me as you were to Miss Chang in fifth year, I just might have to drop you.” 

 

Potter chuckled. “I’d like to think I’ve improved my wooing skills quite a bit since I was fifteen, thank you.”

 

“Hmm, well, we’ll see. Anyway, owl me the details later, I’ve got to rush. Ta, Potter.”

 

“Later, Malfoy.”

 

It was as he was walking down the street, turning into an empty alleyway after making sure the coast was clear, that Draco Malfoy fully realized what a horrible, terrible, abso-fucking-lutely massive mistake he had just made in agreeing to go along with Potter’s plan. And, Draco grinned, he was positively quaking with giddiness over the whole ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was a bit longer, but I decided to split it up into two different chapters. If you would prefer longer chapters, please let me know and I'll try to make them a bit longer.
> 
> Thank you for commenting, bookmarking, subscribing, and leaving kudos! I'm really enjoying writing this and I hope you all are enjoying reading it!
> 
> :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Had a bit of trouble with this chapter and I've also started another project for a contest I entered on Mibba. Chapter Five has been started and hopefully won't take as long to finish as this did! Hope you enjoy! :))

Desmond and Penelope Lewis had walked into Curios on a rather bleak February morning, bringing with them smiles and a Muggle VHS machine. Draco had been working at Curios for a little over a month, still under Lionel’s careful instruction, and had never seen one of the devices. He’d hovered over Lionel’s shoulder as the older man greeted the couple, listening carefully as they described the problem, and then had been left alone with the two as his boss went to the back to figure out how to fix the machine. Draco had found himself not knowing what to do, what to say; he’d been left alone with customers before, but never had they stood at the counter and stared at him expectantly like these two. Usually they went about their business, checking out the other devices. He’d quickly found out that these two were unlike anyone he’d ever met before, they were friendly in a way that Draco was unused to. “This must be a pretty cool place to work,” the man had said, smiling as he looked around. “Fixing things all the time and all that. I couldn’t even unclog the drain in our kitchen sink, had to call the plumber when it started to spray everywhere.”

 

The woman had laughed and shot Draco what was supposed to be a shared look of amusement, but had fallen flat, because Draco had no idea what to say. He hadn’t had a friendly discussion with a stranger about anything other than customer service related things in so long that he was slightly rusty. Mostly, the people who talked to Draco were either telling him what was wrong with their machines or where he and his family could stick their wands for what they did in the War. “Um,” he’d finally managed to say. “It’s okay. Mr. Maris usually fixes things and lets me watch, usually I just stay up front.”

 

Perhaps sensing his discomfort with the current discussion, the man began rambling about football, a sport that Draco had become familiar with during his trips to Muggle bars and had begun to somewhat enjoy. During the discussion, the pair introduced themselves: Desmond and Penelope Lewis, married for two years; Desmond worked as a photographer and Penelope wrote for a magazine that Draco hadn’t caught the name of. They were extremely polite and, when Lionel had returned with their VCR and they’d paid for their services, they promised to stop in another time to chat with Draco and offered to have him over for dinner and to watch the footie. Draco had been pleased with surviving his first real conversation with Muggles and accepted readily; if his father could only have been a fly on that wall, he probably would have collapsed from heart failure. The Lewis’ were Muggles, below the Malfoy’s in every way, but they were people too and Draco was quickly beginning to realize that everything he’d been taught growing up might have been a terrible lie concocted by a deranged psychopath.

 

Now, as Draco sat at their dining room table, he realized just how lucky he’d been to meet the Lewis’. “No, Draco, like this,” Penny demonstrated gently, taking the piece of cardstock from him and folding it in half, like a letter instead of a brochure like Draco had been doing. “Like a hamburger, see?”

 

He quirked a brow at her phrasing, but smiled and took another card to fold from the pile in the middle of the table between them. They were making invitations for Penny’s baby shower next month; at six months along, Draco was surprised at the amount of patience Penny still harboured. Had he been expecting, he was sure he’d be going off the walls with nerves and frustration. The only sign of stress he’d seen Penny exude, however, in the past few months was when Desmond brought home the wrong brand of biscuits. “So,” he began, carefully folding the cardstock and holding it up for her inspection. When she nodded, Draco placed it in the pile with the rest of the folded invitations and began on another. “How’s your sister?”

 

Penny made a slightly aggravated noise. “Quite well, thank you for asking,” she sniffed. 

 

Draco chuckled. “Still upset at you for getting pregnant before her?”

 

Penny rolled her eyes. “She’s so immature, I swear. She knows how long Des and I have been trying and yet she’s still being a brat about it. She and Ben have only been married for three months!”

 

“It’s times like this, when you tell me about your sister,” Draco sighed happily. “That I’m grateful to be an only child.”

 

“The only reason you’re probably an only child is because you were more than enough for your parents to handle,” Penny retaliated, smirking. 

 

Draco made a noise of offense. “I was a perfectly well-behaved child, I assure you.”  _ Before I started school, that is,  _ he added mentally. Thinking of his childhood made him think of his mother, who had Floo-called him briefly in the time he’d come home from Potter’s before arriving at Desmond and Penny’s. They’d talked of her visit to Azkaban for a moment, until Draco tired of hearing about how depressed Lucius had looked. He loved his mother and he was willing to indulge her in talking about his father whenever she needed to, but after his agreement with Potter it seemed awkward to talk with his mother as if it was any other day. He hadn’t told her anything, not sure how to explain it to her. He knew he had to tell someone the truth, otherwise he’d end up driving himself mad. Draco side-eyed Penny as she rearranged the pile of finished invitations, wondering how she would react to the whole situation, before he decided to throw caution to the wind and cleared his throat.

 

“So,” he started, handing her a folded piece of cardstock and grabbing another. “I have news. Complicated news.”

 

“Oh no,” Penny sighed, looking at him with concern. “That’s your Bad Idea face. I’m not going to like this news, am I?”

 

“It depends on how you feel about me pretending to be someone's boyfriend to help him come out when I also have some poorly suppressed feelings for said pretend boyfriend.” Draco felt his face heat up, spreading from his temples down his neck and to his shirt-covered chest. He cursed his pureblood; tanning was impossible without burning to a crisp and blushing was imminent. 

 

Penny stared at him with her brown eyes wide with shock, before her lips twisted and her entire face seemed to droop into a gentle expression. “Oh, Draco, you didn’t,” she murmured.

 

“I did,” Draco sighed regretfully, pushing his unfinished invitation aside and setting his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands. If his mother were here she would scold him for the position, but his mother was in Wiltshire; too busy worrying about Lucius’ wellbeing and ordering the House Elves about to dismantle the Manor to actually come visit Draco. 

 

“Oh, you poor lovesick sod, you,” Penny hummed fondly, reaching out to push Draco’s hair away from his face. She then heaves herself up from the table. “I’ll make us a cuppa, then, shall I?”

 

“Make it Irish, please,” Draco requested miserably.

 

“Make what Irish?” Desmond drawled as he entered the flat, dropping his camera bag on the side table by the front door and then walking across the flat to where Draco sat at the dining table. Desmond was the type of man whom Lucius would have a stroke at seeing, especially since he was a Muggle and standing next to Draco with a hand resting on his shoulder. He was tall, and wiry, with dark brown hair that hung in loose curls down to his shoulders; wire framed glasses concealed his light blue eyes and his chin was covered in uneven stubble. A redeeming factor for his unkempt appearance was that he at least dressed nice; always in a pair of nice denims, or trousers, with button-up dress shirts and blazers with elbow pads. Desmond was firm believer that a blazer was not complete without elbow pads.

 

“His tea,” Penny answered, toddling up to Desmond and giving him a kiss on his patchy cheek. She then went back to the kitchen to prepare the beverage, humming Elton John as she went.

 

Desmond turned Draco to face him and clicked his tongue in sympathy at what he saw. “That’s your Bad Idea face,” he observed, pulling out the chair next to Draco and sitting down. He rested his forearms on the table and turned his keen eyes on the younger boy. “Tell me what happened.”

 

Draco sighed, “I’m pretending to be someone’s boyfriend. A someone that I’ve been slightly mad for for almost half my life and who I’m pretty sure still hates me somewhat from school.”

 

“Yikes,” Desmond winced. “That is a Bad Idea. Why are you pretending to be his boyfriend, exactly?”

 

Draco hesitated, thinking over what to say in order to make Desmond understand it. He couldn’t exactly tell him that Potter was a celebrity and that he wanted to come out to the world with the look that he was already in a stable, loving relationship. “He thinks his family would better approve if he were in a relationship already when he told them,” he settled on. “They’re not homophobic, I don’t think, but they’re the Big Happy Family type and they’d like it if he were in a secure relationship. Also, I think they’d nag him to death and try and set him up with every bloke they know.”

 

He could see that of the Weasley’s, especially of Mrs. Weasley, who was formidable in her protectiveness of her children; and Potter was a Weasley in all but name. 

 

Desmond was quiet as he thought and Penny came back from the kitchen with two mugs of steaming tea in her hands. Draco accepted his readily, humming with pleasure at the sweet taste of the sugar and the slightly bitter tang of whiskey hitting his tongue. “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad,” Penny considered, sitting down and sipping from her own mug, placing a hand on her rounded stomach. “At least it’s just his family.”

 

“Yeah,” Draco muttered vaguely, turning his gaze to the pile of folded invitations on the table and sipping at his boozy tea. “Just his family.”

 

**& &&**

 

Draco was fixing a toaster Mr. Templeton from next-door had brought in when Lionel walked into the back room and rapped on the wall. A bright grin was affixed on his face when Draco sat aside his pliers and turned to look at him. “You’ve a visitor, Draco,” Lionel said and there was a twinkle in his eye that Draco hadn’t seen before; it was slightly mischievous.

 

He frowned, wondering who possibly could be visiting him at work, and thought briefly of the old woman who had given him the Cosmic Locket. He patted under his thin sweater lightly, tracing the outline of where the pendant lay against his chest. Draco sat the toaster aside and placed the pliers back in the toolbox before walking past a still grinning Lionel and into the main room; the sight that beheld him had him pausing in his steps.

 

Potter grinned sheepishly at him from where he stood next to a display of clocks. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and a brown leather satchel hung over one shoulder. His face was flushed with the surprisingly harsh wind and his eyes were unbelievably bright behind his glasses. Draco felt his breath catch in his throat at the view;  _ he was totally fucked.  _

 

“Potter,” he managed, sounding surprised no matter how he tried to reel it in. “What are you doing here?”  _ How did you know I worked here?  _ Went unspoken; no need for Lionel to think the Savior of the Wizarding World was stalking Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater. No need for Lionel to think there was  _ any reason  _ for the Savior of the Wizarding World to stalk Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater. 

 

Potter, for his credit, seemed to hear the unspoken question and smiled apologetically in reply. Draco understood, then, and rolled his eyes.  _ Granger.  _ “I thought I’d drop in for a visit,” he replied, loping forward with his hands still in his pockets. He looked like a wave moving steadily towards shore, gaining momentum as he neared, and Draco was a rickety beach house on splintered stilts. One hit from Potter, no matter how casual, and Draco would crash to the floor in a heap of heartache and embarrassment. 

 

Instead of letting this show, however, Draco placed a mask over his face. He was used to masks, usually ones of indifference; this mask was something completely new to him, the mask of a man in love and ready to tell the world all about it. Draco leaned against the counter, aware that Lionel was still hovering somewhere behind him, most likely with that stupid knowing smile still on his face. “Quite thoughtful of you, Potter,” he replied with a teasing grin. “But I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment, no time to chat.”

 

“Is that right?” Potter asked, quickly playing along, and the smile on his lips was now--dare Draco think it?-- _ flirty. _ He sighed, “Well, I guess I’ll have to be on my way, then. Don’t want to keep you from your work.”

 

Potter made to turn, winking at Draco as he did so, but Lionel quickly jumped into the conversation and took Draco by surprise at what he said. “One moment, there, Mr. Potter,” he said cheerfully, grinning all the while. Draco narrowed his eyes as Lionel grinned at him. “Draco’s lunch break is soon and, well, I reckon he could take it early if he likes?”

 

The temperature in the room seemed to rise slightly as both men turned to look at Draco expectantly and, in Potter’s case, hopefully. “Um,” Draco coughed. “But Mr. Templeton’s--”

 

“I can handle it, son,” Lionel interrupted gently. “Or, if you’d rather, you can continue when you come back. I hardly hear about you going about with people your own age,” he continued, before adding conspiratorially, “Let alone a  _ boyfriend _ .” Draco stared at Lionel with wide eyes, unsure of what to say. Seeming to understand what emotions were rolling inside Draco at the moment, Lionel reached out a hand and squeezed Draco’s shoulder in a fatherly way, smiling gently. “Son, I may be old, but I know a thing or two about a thing or two. I’m quite perceptive, y’know, and you’re about as queer as a two-headed unicorn.”

 

Draco was surprised into laughter at the statement, which seemed to be Lionel’s plan all along. “Fine,” he said to the old man, carefully shrugging his hand off and reaching behind him to untie his apron. “I’ll go out to lunch, you mad bastard, but save the toaster for me!” He raised his hand, showing a bandage on his left pointer and middle fingers. “I’ve a bone to pick with it.”

 

Lionel laughed and cuffed his ear. Draco shot Potter a slightly nervous smile before heading into the back to grab his coat, thinking about how he’d just inadvertently used him to come out to his boss.  _ If the Weasley’s take it half as well as Lionel,  _ Draco thought as he followed Potter out the front door, the bell jingling brightly behind them.  _ Then this shouldn’t be so bad, after all. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that this chapter took so long to get out. I had a difficult time with it, surprisingly, but I have started the next chapter and have somewhat of a clear idea on where the story is going to go. I definitely have a solid idea for the ending, it's just a matter of getting there that's the issue haha. Thank you all for being so patient with me, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Potter took Draco to Pret down the road; Potter ordered the Maine Lobster Roll and Draco got the Balsamic Chicken and Avocado sandwich. They each got the Honey Tangerine Juice, which Draco thought tasted devine. The first few minutes of the lunch were spent chatting amicably, small talk about the weather and work and the like. Draco learned that Potter was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts part-time at Hogwarts, assisting the new professor, Nebulan Rosewood. “He’s an alright professor,” Potter said after swallowing a bite of lobster roll. “Much better than Umbridge or Quirrel, at least.”

 

Draco shuddered at the thought of the former. He’d followed Umbridge out of stupidity, because he hated Potter and how he didn’t really hate him at all. And he’d wanted was to please his father. Pleasing Lucius had been a major part of all his stupid decisions growing up. “Anyone would be better than those two,” Draco agreed, picking at a bit of chicken that had fallen off his sandwich. “Though I’m surprised you decided to take up the post,” he continued after a moment of silence had passed. He made his tone easy and teasing, to shake away the vestiges of sadness that had washed over him at the thought of his past mistakes. “I figured after Hogwarts you’d be first in line for Auror training.”

 

Potter cast him a wry smile and Draco’s stomach fluttered traitorously. “You and everyone else in the Wizarding World,” he said. Then, his eyebrows did that brooding scrunching motion that Draco recognized from school, when Potter would be sat at the Gryffindor table seemingly deep in thought. “I tried Auror training, to be honest, but after the first week I knew it wasn’t for me. I kept getting flashbacks to...to the War, and I realized that I wouldn’t be any help in the field if I froze in action at seeing a Killing Curse sailing past me. I would have been a liability, so Robards and I had a chat about it and I finally came to the decision to quit.”

 

Draco blinked, taking in the information. That was...not so surprising, actually. Potter was definitely the Savior Type (hello,  _ Quirrel Ginny Weasley Sirius Black Cedric Diggory Umbridge VOLDEMORT  _ **_ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD_ ** ) and deciding to not be an Auror, because it would not only put himself in danger but those he worked with was an extremely courageous and generous act. Draco could admit that to himself, grudgingly, that it was rather charming; who knew chivalry would have such a strong affect on someone? (The part of himself that squealed every time it saw Potter did a little shimmy of delight). “I can see that,” Draco finally stated. “You’ve rescued enough people, Potter, you deserve some peace and quiet.”

 

Potter snorted. “I don’t know how peaceful or quiet teenagers are, exactly, but...thank you, Malfoy, that means a lot.”

 

A small nod, jerky and sharp, was all Draco let himself express. Inside, he felt as if a miniature Hungarian Horntail was trying to claw its way up his throat, flames shooting up his esophagus.  If you’d asked his thirteen year old self, he never would have thought that he and Potter would be sat here, pretend boyfriends, having a civilized conversation that came close to talking about the War and having lunch in Muggle London. He could remember a time when he’d indulge himself in little fantasies, when he first began to realize what the dragon-in-his-stomach feeling really meant in regards to Potter; he’d imagine the two of them, walking by the lake hand in hand in peaceful silence; pressed close together in a hidden booth at the Three Broomsticks, whispering with their heads bent towards each other and hands wandering tipsily under the table; or, even, just the two of them sitting in the library, studying quietly together, friends and nothing more. “So,” Draco began, clearing his throat slightly. “What exactly did you come into the shop for today?”

 

If Draco wasn’t so fixated on his wishful thinking of before, he would have noticed the blush that spread over Potter’s dark-skinned cheeks. “I, um, well I wanted to know if you would like to...go with me...to a Quidditch match? The Holyhead Harpies are playing the Wimbourne Wasps this Friday and Ginny sent me two tickets; I figured it would be a good place for our first, uh, public outing--in the Wizarding World.”

 

Draco paused with his drink in midair, staring at Potter with wide-eyes.  _ So soon?  _ He panicked internally, feeling his heart rate rise and his hands starting to sweat. He told himself this was a good thing, the sooner they got this started and over with the sooner Potter would be out of his life and Draco could pine from afar in peace. He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking that Potter would suddenly want to be friends after this, not with his secret out and the rest of the Wizarding World bowing at his feet at his bravery. “That sounds acceptable,” he finally managed to say, taking a sip of his drink. “Box seats, I presume?”

 

Potter smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, we’ll be sitting next to Luna I reckon.”

 

Draco grimaced. After the war, he’d received many a letter from his distant cousin Lovegood, but he’d always been too afraid to reply. He’d never even read them; they were still buried in a drawer somewhere, unopened. “That should be interesting,” he replied vaguely.

 

Instantly, a hardened look came over Potter’s face and Draco was surprised to hear the stern sound of his voice when he spoke. “I thought you’d changed for the better, Malfoy, please don’t prove me wrong by spewing shit about Luna. She doesn’t deserve any of it, she’s a great person, if a little strange.”

 

“No, I know,” Draco reassured. “I’m just thinking that she most likely won’t react well to having to sit next to someone who had her locked in his dungeon for months.”

 

Potter’s hard look softened. “Luna’s not like that, Malfoy, she doesn’t hold grudges. And, also,  _ you  _ didn’t lock her in the dungeon. You’re not responsible for all of your family's actions.”

 

Draco took that in to think about another time, a time that wasn’t in public in the Muggle world, when the two of them could talk about it freely in extensive detail. Instead, he thought about Quidditch; specifically, attending a Quidditch match with Potter as his date and how that was sure to get the word of the latter’s queerness, for a lack of a better word, out. Draco couldn’t remember the last Quidditch game he’d watched; it was probably sometime in sixth year, before the stress of everything got ahold of him, or even before then. It might be nice to watch the sport again, but, then again, Lovegood would be there; and Weaselette, once the game was over. Was Draco ready to confront them? No, not really, but looking at Potter’s growing, hopeful expression he decided he’d have to grin and bear it. “So, it’s settled then, a Quidditch match,” Draco confirmed.

 

“Wonderful,” Potter said, grinning widely. He wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and then set Muggle notes down on the table. “Lunch is on me. I’ll pick you up at six on Friday. Later, Malfoy.”

 

Draco watched Potter leave the shop with a peculiar sense of excitement and dread brewing in his stomach. It seemed like Friday was both seconds and an eternity away.

 

**& &&**

 

Draco sat wedged between Daphne and Pansy on his couch, each of them with their legs crossed and a type of snack in their laps as they focused their attention on the television above the fireplace. He was biding his time, letting  _ Casablanca  _ play on as background noise to his thoughts on how he was going to tell the two women that he was basically in a relationship with Harry Potter. Albeit, a fake relationship. Pansy reached over to grab a fistful of caramel popcorn out of the bowl on Draco’s lap, without taking her eyes off the screen, her perfectly manicured, blood red nails standing out in contrast to the sweet and salty treat. Draco couldn’t help but to smile; since the moment he’d introduced the telly to Pansy, she’d been enamoured with the device. (“Muggles made this? How fascinating! How do you suppose they get the little people in there? Can they breathe?  _ HELLO! CAN. YOU. HEAR. ME?! ARE. YOU. SAFE?!  _ Draco, stop laughing and help me try and communicate!”)

 

Draco sighed, he was lucky if Pansy would ever speak to him again after learning of his recent goings ons. Daphne looked over at him at the sound, she was less impressed with the telly; having secretly dated a Muggleborn the summer after fifth year, she was more familiar with the whole process and function of most technologies. Though, Draco still caught her tapping curiously on the glass of the television screen some days. “You alright, love?” She asked him now, reaching out a hand to squeeze his bicep affectionately. Pansy tuned in then, silently watching the exchange with a furrowed brow. “You’ve been sort of...off all evening, Draco.”

 

“I-I actually have something I need to tell the two of you,” Draco said, sighing deeply as he did and reaching out to pause the film. 

 

“Oh my god,” Pansy began, eyes widening and voice tinged with worry. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?!”

 

He actually snorted at that, finding amusement in how absolutely horrified Pansy appeared. “No! No, I’m not  _ pregnant _ you ninny! Merlin, your face!”

 

Daphne sniggered as Pansy went red and smacked Draco’s arm. “Well, what do you expect me to think?” She cried. “You invite Daphne and I over and sit us down to watch a film like we’re in some sort of ComRom or whatever and, like Daphne said, you’ve been sullen all evening! Of course I jumped to that conclusion!”

 

“Well, that’s not it, thank Circe,” Draco reassured her, still chuckling in spite of himself. “No, it’s--well, more complicated than that.”

 

“More complicated than male pregnancy?” Daphne questioned disbelievingly, raising a sculpted brow. “Merlin, help us then, Pansy’s going to have an aneurysm.”

 

The raven haired girl scowled at her friend, and then turned back to Draco. “Tell us, love.”

 

Draco took a deep breath and worried the hem of his t-shirt, before deciding to hell with it and just blurting it out. “I’m in a pretend relationship with Harry Potter and we’re going to a Quidditch match on Friday.”

 

Absolute silence, except for the gentle hum of the electric space heater in the corner of the room (the flat, despite how nice, was rather drafty in the colder months). Daphne was the first to break the silence, blinking at Draco with wide eyes and a taken aback expression. “Say--say again?”

 

“Um, I’m pretending t--to date, er, Potter and...we’re going to the Harpies and Wasps match on Friday?”

 

A sharp laugh rattled Draco’s eardrums and he and Daphne both turned to see Pansy keeled over in amusement. “Oh, Merlin, I thought I’d misheard you,” she breathed through her laughter. “Darling, please tell me you’re joking?”

 

Draco exchanged a glance with Daphne. “I’m afraid I’m being entirely honest with you,” he said slowly, gauging her reaction. 

 

Pansy stiffened and looked up to give him an incredulous look. He was expecting a harsh reaction; fists, shouting, insults upon his name and ancestors, usual Pansy-like anger. Instead, she shook her head slowly and stood, setting the bag of crisps she’d been holding in her lap on the coffee table. “You absolute idiot,” she said, snatching up her cloak from the arm of the couch before fleeing out the front door, too absorbed in her emotions to escape via Floo.

 

Draco and Daphne sat quietly for a moment, before the latter sat back and put a delicate, pale hand to her forehead. “Well, that went pleasantly.”

 

Draco burst out into hysterical laughter and soon the two of them were leaning on each other in a fit of disbelieving giggles. Pansy might hate him, Potter was expecting his presence at a Quidditch game where Draco was sure to be made into prey, and it seemed he was losing his mind. Yes, everything was going pleasantly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to Pret before and have no idea what kind of food establishment it is (or was, in the late nineties). I picked a location that was near the whereabouts of where I chose Curios location in London and browsed the Pret website for everything mentioned in this chapter. (i.e. the sandwiches and drinks) and have decided that when I eventually go to London (its a distant dream atm) that I want to try it out, the Honey Tangerine juice sounds lovely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words don't even begin to explain how deeply, deeply sorry I am that this chapter is so late. If it's any consolation, it's a little over 2x the word count of the previous chapters. xx

Draco smoothed down his robes and examined himself in his full-length mirror. “You look splendid, darling,” the mirror crooned, but Draco wondered if he looked a little overdone for a Quidditch match.

 

“Oh, for the love of--” Draco pulled off the midnight blue robes, leaving him in a pair of grey wool trousers and a white cotton undershirt. He turned away from his mirror and closet to fall back on his unmade bed. Potter would arrive soon and Draco had no idea what he was going to wear. He didn’t know why he was acting this way, it was just a Quidditch game. “C’mon, Draco,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up and resting his head in his hands. Psyching himself up, Draco stood and walked to his closet. He pulled out a dark blue button-up, putting it on over his cotton shirt.

 

“Not what I would recommend, but you wear it wonderfully,” the mirror complemented as Draco stepped into a pair of dragonhide loafers.

 

“Thank you,” he replied haughtily, running a careful hand over the gelled coif of his hair. He grabbed his black cloak from the end of his bed and threw it over his arm, looking himself over.  _ Passable,  _ he thought, nodding his approval. A glint in the mirror caught his eye and Draco turned to stare at the Cosmic Locket laying on his nightstand. He hadn’t spared the object much thought since removing his Mark, too busy being pulled into Potters’ orbit. He’d done some basic research at Curios when he’d returned from lunch the other day, but for the life of him he couldn’t find any mention of the locket anywhere. Making a split second decision, Draco strode across his bedroom and slipped the locket into his trouser pocket just as a knock rang out through his flat. Maybe Lovegood, if she were feeling good natured, knew something and could give him some information.

 

Draco walked through his flat, turning off lamps and checking the wards. He took a moment to pull himself together and paste a pleasant smile on his face, before opening the front door. Potter was more dressed up than Draco expected him to be; decked out in a heather gray cable knit jumper over a black and white checked shirt and wearing a pair of dark wash jeans with black Muggle dress shoes, Potter looked absolutely devastating. Draco could hardly help the way his jaw dropped at the sight, even with the hair that screamed he’d just stuck a finger in an electric socket Potter looked better than most of the models in  _ Wizardry  _ and  _ Witch Weekly.  _ The bright smile that came upon his face at the sight of Draco was even more disarming.  _ Merlin, give me the strength to endure this evening and the sanity to  _ **_not_ ** _ jump Potter’s bones at the end of the day.  _

 

“You look great, Malfoy!” Potter greeted as Draco wordlessly stepped out of his apartment and into the crowded hallway with Potter. They were only a hairsbreadth apart at first, close enough that Draco could smell the minty tang of Potter’s aftershave and what could have been the scent of honey clinging to his collar.  _ Shampoo, maybe?  _

 

“Thank you.” Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat and returned the sentiment. “I must say, Potter, that I’m surprised you clean up so well.”

 

Potter laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “Hermione helped,” he admitted, before ushering out with one long arm towards the staircase down the hall. “Shall we?”

 

“Of course.” Draco shrugged into his cloak and stepped out the door after making sure he had his wand and ran a hand over the pocket that held the locket, then followed Potter down the hall and the stairs. Outside, the weather in London was bleak and chilly with the feeling of autumn; Draco took it in with a deep breath that was brisk in his lungs. “How have your lessons been so far?” He asked, after they’d walked past a few shops and small houses. 

 

“They’ve been interesting, to say the least,” Potter replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked. “Nebulan’s had me demonstrate a few times--mostly the Patronus Charm and Expelliarmus.”

 

Draco laughed. “I would imagine, being those two seem to be your specialty.”

 

Potter shot him a grin that sent a fuzzy feeling coursing throughout Draco’s bloodstream. “I’ve a dab hand at them, yes,” he agreed. “Most of the students seem to not know how to react to me, though.”

 

“Ah,” Draco nodded in understanding. “You’re a celebrity, Potter, and a very special one at that. You can’t expect a group of children who’ve grown up looking up to you to know how to act in your presence.”

 

Silence passed between them for a moment, Potter seeming to think quite heavily on his response, and didn’t break until they stepped in unison into the alley that held the local Apparition point. “You never treated me any differently,” Potter muttered, his green eyes boring into Draco’s grey as they stood between two brick walls and a dumpster overflowing with foul-smelling rubbish. “Even now, you treat me just the same.”

 

Draco swallowed. “I’d like to think I’m a bit...friendlier nowadays than I once was, towards you.”

 

A soft smile graced Potters’ lips. “You are, don’t worry.” Draco jumped a bit in surprise when Potter reached out and grabbed his wrist, coarse fingerpads running against the smooth skin as he seemed to try and sooth Draco. “Ready?” He didn’t give Draco but a moment to nod before lifting his wand and twisting the two of them into nothing.

 

**& &&**

 

The Cairngorms Stadium was nestled in-between the mountains Braeriach, Ben Macdui, and CairnGorm. It stood tall and proud, swaying very faintly in the mountain breeze, and, despite the height of the building and the distance they stood from it, the cheers from inside the stadium were explosive. Draco followed Potter through Wand Check and endured multiple side-eyes from the Security Wizards on duty as he handed over his wand; he took it all in stride, only glaring at one young man who dared spit at Draco’s feet. Luckily, Potter had been too engrossed in a conversation with a Ministry official to notice. They quickly wound their way up the wooden staircase into the rickety stands of the stadium, heading up with the wind to get to the box seats. Draco felt every particle of his being shiver in delight when Potter placed a careful hand at the small of his back, leading Draco threw the maze of people, who, when they caught sight of the two of them, stared after them in shock and awe. Potter glanced back at Draco once and sent him an affectionate smile, the unmistakable gleam of triumph shining in his eyes. Their plan was working.

 

Draco was practically vibrating with nerves and excitement by the time they reached Lovegood, who looked...peculiar in robes of an emerald green with brilliant golden broomsticks emblazoned on it. Atop her head, and very reminiscent of the lion hat she’d worn frequently at matches at Hogwarts, there was a golden harpy head, that looked all too real and let out ear splitting shrieks that had crowd members covering their ears and grumbling every now and then. She hadn’t changed a bit.

 

Potter strode up to her as soon as their eyes met and embraced her, laughing in joy at the sight of her apparel. “Have you shown Gin yet?” He asked, escorting her to her seat as Draco trailed behind awkwardly. His nerves were eased somewhat when Potter nodded at him over his shoulder, smiling gently, but they still raved through him. 

 

“Not yet,” Lovegood replied. “She left Dublin and came straight to the stadium with the team. I’ve not seen her; I wanted it to be a surprise.”

 

Potter grinned, eyes roving over the harpy as its golden eyes seemed to follow him. “Well, I can assure you that she will certainly be surprised.”

 

Lovegood’s grin was serene, tranquil, almost as if she’d been slipped a Calming Draught. She turned away from Potter, then, and her pale blue eyes lit upon Draco, seeming to brighten at the sight of him. “Oh, Draco, how wonderful that you could make it! You’re looking much better now that the Iberian Imps have let you be.”

 

Draco shifted on his feet, looking over Lovegoods’ shoulder towards Potter for help. The other man was just smiling, though, and nodded his damned head again when he caught Draco staring. “Um, thank you, Lovegood. You’re looking...very...supportive.”

 

“Why, thank you,” she crooned, fingering the edges of her robes with a beatific smile. “I made them myself.”

 

_ Of course you did,  _ Draco mentally sighed.  _ How on earth does Potter expect me to make it through this evening? Lovegood’ll drive me batty.  _ “I’m going to grab some refreshments,” the little devil voiced, looking between Draco and Lovegood with a proud expression on his face. Draco rolled his eyes,  _ could he get any sappier?  _ “Would you like anything Draco? Luna?”

 

“A butterbeer, please,” Draco answered, stepping forward and placing his hand on Potter's arm. He had a role to play, after all. “And some licorice wands, if you would, love.” Then, before he could think twice, he leaned forward and placed his lips on Potters cheek in a chaste kiss. His skin was smooth, freshly shaved, and tangy from his aftershave. Draco nearly had a fit at the smell and feel of him. “You so owe me for this, Potter,” he whispered into the other man's ear and grinned when he heard Potter’s breath catch. He backed away, keeping his eyes on Potter’s wide green eyes and slightly pink cheeks, before winking and walking around the other man to take his seat. He could hear Potter pull himself together behind him, talking to Luna and departing as Draco focused on not hyperventilating and/or spiralling into a panic attack.

 

He took a look around the stadium, seeing the divide of team supporters with the scattering of green and bright yellow groups. The fans were spewing insults and cheers at each other, which were only discernible by the sound of whistling, clapping, stomping, and cheering. Occasionally, bursts of light shown in the setting sun; signs that fans were getting a bit physical and resulting in duels. Draco was brought out of his sightseeing by Lovegood taking a seat next to him, smoothing out her exuberant robes and then turning towards him with those unnerving eyes of hers. “I’m quite interested in what’s in your pocket, Draco,” she said out of nowhere. 

 

He put his hand in his pocket and ran his fingers over the locket, eyeing Lovegood curiously as he did. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” He looked around surreptitiously to make sure that no one was paying them much attention or Potter was returning already and then pulled the Cosmic Locket out for Lovegood to see. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of it and her hands were gentle when she took it from his offered hand. Draco followed her gaze to the iridescent object, sparkling slightly in the light of the sconces on the box walls. “Do you know what it is?”

 

Lovegood shook her head. “I’m afraid not, but it does hold quite a bit of magical energy. It’s positively swarming with cosmic particles,” she murmured, running her fingers over the swirling pattern. Lovegood looked up into Draco’s eyes, then. “Where did you get this?”

 

Draco hesitated, frowning when he realized he didn’t know. Usually, when people came into Curios to sell something, they filled out a Customer Information sheet, in case someone came in wanting to buy the object. But, since Draco had purchased the item himself, the old woman hadn’t filled out a form. In fact, Draco thought there was more to it than just him being the one to purchase the locket; perhaps the old woman had disappeared after so quickly in order not to put her identity down on paper. “A...friend gave it to me,” Draco decided to settle with, his heart sinking somewhat when he realized that Lovegood wouldn’t have anything to tell him about the locket that he didn’t already know himself. He held out a hand and she dropped the object into it obediently and just in time it seemed, because Potter chose that moment to walk up and take the seat next to Draco, who quickly hid the locket back into his cloak pocket.

 

“Your butterbeer, Your Highness,” Potter said, handing over the bottle to Draco, who returned his grin with an unimpressed look. “And your licorice wands--sorry, I stole a few on the way back up.”

 

“Quite alright.” Draco saw a Ministry official come up the stairs into the box and stare straight at him, so he leaned forward with a smile he hoped looked besotted and kissed Potter’s cheek once more. “Thank you.”

 

Potter wrapped an arm around the back of Draco’s chair, his fingers teasing at the nape of his neck where his cloak didn’t cover, and sipped from the steaming cup of hot chocolate in his other hand. “You’re quite welcome,” he replied, speaking the words directly into Draco’s ear and making the older man shiver slightly. The smirk on Potter’s lips told Draco that he knew exactly what he was doing.

 

“You two make a lovely couple,” Lovegood said and the two men turned only to see her gazing out over the stadium. “Oh, look, they’re starting.” Draco and Potter exchanged an amused look, both of them blushing slightly, before turning towards where they could see the Quidditch players flying out onto the pitch. Draco took a long pull from his Butterbeer and prepared himself for a long, long evening.

 

**& &&**

 

The Harpies won, because of course they did, and Draco had to endure Lovegoods’ shrieking hat and Potter’s boisterous yells of triumph along with the rest of the stadiums cacophony. After the teams departed to their respective locker rooms and most of the spectators began to file out of the stadium, the Ministry worker Draco’d noticed earlier came over and led them to the conference room just beyond the box seats. “What are we doing in here?” Draco asked when they’d arrived, looking around nervously at all the Ministry workers and other press-heavy folks. He did a double take when he spied someone who looked suspiciously like Celestina Warbeck in a giant Hippogriff feather boa and a flamboyantly pink top hat. 

 

“After game celebration,” Potter answered, taking his own look around the room and accepting two gently fizzing flutes of Fairy Champagne. He passed one to Draco, who took it and downed half of it at once in thanks and immediately felt the tell-tale floating sensation that always came with fae-made consumables. “They do this after every game, even if they don’t win.”

 

“Box seats only invited, I’m guessing.” Draco tried to hide his bitterness in the bubbles of his drink, but Potter still sent him a knowing look over the lip of his own glass. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been to a Quidditch game and I was always too young to attend the parties, when I could. Father always sent me home with our House Elf, Gilly, while he and Mother stayed and  _ socialized _ .”

 

Potter hummed. “You make it sound so unpleasant.”

 

“Most everything my Father did willingly was,” Draco replied, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment at the reminder. He was saved from Potter’s expected agreement by a flurry of red haired, green robed,  _ long legged Weaselette  _ nearly tackling the other man.

 

“Fucking--Christ,  _ Ginny _ !” Potter cried from the depths of the cackling woman’s red hair. 

 

Ginevra Weasley pulled away from Potter enough to pinch his cheeks and grin mischievously. “Not sure your date would like that, Harry,” she crooned, eying Draco with poorly disguised distrust from over her shoulder. He watched with growing trepidation as the Girl Weasley turned and stalked towards him, somehow making the ridiculously colored robes of the Holyhead Harpies look menacing. 

 

“Ginny--” Potter began, sighing deeply, but to no avail.

 

“Malfoy, Malfoy,  _ Malfoy _ ,” Ginevra Weasley practically growled, crossing her arms and popping one hip out to the side. Draco raised a brow at the dramatics, but wisely kept quiet. If he wanted to keep pretend dating Potter, he had to make nice with his friends. He’d gotten through an entire game with Lovegood, which hadn’t gone as bad as he’d thought it would; he could make it through a party with Ginevra Weasley. “When Harry told me he was bringing you, I have to say I didn’t believe it.”

 

“Why?” He couldn’t help but bite out, “Think I’m too narrow-minded for a game of Quidditch?”

 

Behind Ginevra, he could see Potter covering his face with his hands. Lovegood stood to the side of him, watching Weaselette and Draco like she was observing a particularly entertaining tennis match. Ginevra, on the other hand, looked as if Christmas had come early. She stepped closer to him and he resisted the urge to back up until she was a hair's breadth away from him. “Don’t think this makes everything between us okay,” she said loud enough for only him to hear. “But Harry seems to think you’ve changed and if I hear  _ anything, _ even a teensy, tiny  _ whisper _ of you hurting him, then I swear on every inch of my magic, Draco Malfoy, I will make your life  _ hell _ for the rest of your days.” Then, with an angelic smile, she stepped back and held out a freckled hand to him. “Thank you for attending the game, Malfoy. Please, on the behalf of the Holyhead Harpies, enjoy yourself.”

 

Draco let out a quiet breath as she turned away from him and strode towards Lovegood, embracing her and, to his astonishment, smacking a deep, loud kiss onto her lips. “You okay?” Potter asked, snorting inelegantly when Draco jumped at not having heard him approach.

 

Draco swallowed and watched the Girl Weasley and Lovegood whisper sweet nothings to each other, completely intertwined in a world of their own. “Yeah,” he replied, looking at Potter and staring, unblinking, into his green eyes. “Let's get more drinks.”

 

Potter’s answering smile was a like a thousand gentle winds washing over Draco, beautiful and oh so welcome. He held out his arm and Draco gladly twined it with his own. “Let’s.”

 

**& &&**

 

Draco looked at his friends seated around his dining room table. Blaise and Greg were arguing about the latest Quidditch match between Puddlemere United and the Montrose Magpies whilst Daphne and Astoria took turns regaling Millie with stories of their annual family trip to Barbados over Christmas. Draco took a sip from his glass of wine and looked over the brim of the glass towards the other end of the table, where Pansy sat quietly picking at her food, Blaise’s hand placed atop her shoulder closest to him. He was still slightly tipsy from the after game party the night before and memories of Potter’s bleary green eyes and dazzling smile still assaulted him whenever he closed his eyes. They’d said their goodbyes at the stadium, in the quiet of the private Apparition point to keep their charade going, and Draco had sat up for another few hours, sitting on his living room sofa and staring blankly at the Cosmic Locket. He was digging himself deep, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to climb out. It seemed every time he thought to grab the rope that dangled in front of his face, it slipped from his grasp with another selfish thought that maybe this charade could turn into something real.

 

“Draco.” He looked up at the sound of his name, to see Blaise staring at him with a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

 

Draco cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, resting his hand against the stem of his half-empty wine glass. “I’m quite alright,” he replied. “Just a bit distracted.”

 

Nearly everyone at the table, save Pansy, shared looks of amusement. Daphne all but laid herself out on the table in her effort to lean towards him and meet his eyes to make him notice her ridiculous leer. “How did your _date with_ _Potter_ go, Draco? Is the Boy Wonder as good a kisser as those lips of his make him seem?”

 

He scrunched his nose at the question, trying to maintain his dignity despite the fact that his cheeks were turning pink by the second, and picked up a small morsel of food with his fork, slipping the bite off the tines with his teeth. “I wouldn’t know, we didn’t kiss.”

 

“How disappointing,” Blaise chirruped, sighing heavily. “If you had we could finally put an end to the curiosity you’ve been harbouring since third year.”

 

Snickers broke out amongst his friends as Draco gave Blaise his deepest glare, and still Pansy was silent. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco replied primly, even though he knew saying so was fruitless. His friends were relentless and, once they got going, were most likely never going to let him live this down. “Regardless, if I  _ were  _ to ever, Merlin forbid, kiss Potter-what makes you think I’d tell  _ you lot _ ?”

 

“Because we’re your friends,” Greg answered gruffly, humor suddenly dissipating from his expression. Draco felt his throat constrict at the unexpected shift in mood. “And friends tell each other things. Don’t think just because we’ve...had our...differences with Potter that we’d let our selfish thoughts and petty wishes get in the way of your happiness.”

 

A pregnant silence followed Greg’s monologue. Daphne slouched against the table, staring at Draco with an open expression, Millie was staring at Greg like she’d never heard anything more wonderful in the world, Blaise was nodding his head in agreement, and Pansy...Pansy was shaking with unsuppressed feeling. Draco was the only one to see it, the only one prepared for the loud clang that echoed through the room as she slammed her hands down on the table. Everyone turned from Draco and Greg to Pansy. “Pans?” Blaise questioned, placing a hand on his girlfriend's shoulder. “Are you okay?”

 

“No,” Pansy replied, her voice steely and eyes boring into Draco’s across the table. “No, I am not. Because my best friend is a total prick who is going to get his heart broken if he continues on the way he has.”

 

He sighed, wondering how on Earth Pansy had been able to keep this to herself for so long. “Pans--”

 

She held up a perfectly manicured hand, effectively cutting him off. “Don’t, Draco, I don’t want to hear your excuses. You can deny it all you like, but everyone here knows how long you’ve held a torch for Boy Wonder; how could you put yourself in this position, knowing how it’ll end for you? How could you be so  _ stupid _ ?!”

 

Draco clenched his jaw and felt it click at the force, the annoyance and anger he felt rising quickly to the surface. “Why are you acting like this?” He questioned, voice coming out quiet yet fierce, even though he already knew the answer.

 

“Because I  _ care  _ about you, you dolt! And when Potter no longer needs you anymore and casts you aside, you’re going to be lost and shattered and I’ll be the one sitting next to you trying to Spellotape the pieces.” Pansy was crying now, her hands balled into fists on the table top and her shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back her sobs. “Potter’s going to break your heart, Draco, because no matter how hard you try, all we’ll ever be to them is a bunch of lowly Slytherins.”

 

He wasn’t the least bit surprised when she pushed her chair back and stood abruptly, popping into the aether with a deafening  _ CRACK  _ that would have all his Muggle neighbors in a tizzy any moment. Blaise shot Draco an apologetic look before he, too, stood and left, but through the front door like a civilized person. The heavy thud of the door closing echoed throughout his flat whilst everyone either stared at the two empty chairs at one end of the table or at Draco on the other.

 

“Well,” Daphne finally broke the silence. She reached out for the gravy boat in the center of the table and drenched her roast. “Anyone for afters?”

 

Draco thought, not even a warm shortbread biscuit or a cup of Lady Grey could take away the heavy, unsettled feeling within his chest at that moment. 

 

**& &&**

 

Draco stood pacing before the fireplace and wondering if what he had in mind was a good idea. He’d let Pansy’s words at dinner get under his skin and bother him when any other time they would have been meaningless. Now, he was worrying the carpet in his living room, wondering if he should Floo Call Harry Potter.

 

“It’s not like he’ll ignore you,” he muttered to himself, contemplating the antique French vase on the mantel that held the Floor Powder, much to his mothers’ displeasure. “Worst case scenario, he’ll have already made plans for the night.” With that positive reinforcement fresh in his mind, Draco grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it in the flames, which immediately turned green. “Harry Potter’s Flat.”

 

There was a moment where Draco thought he wouldn’t answer, but then Potter’s messy head came into view; his hair was on end and his glasses askew and he couldn’t have been more beautiful to Draco.

 

Potter blinked in surprise at the sight of him, before a blinding smile formed across his lips. “Malfoy,” he said, happily. “What’s up?”

 

Draco bit his lip, worried once more that he was making a mistake; but no, he had to do this. He had to see if he could tell for himself how Potter felt about all of this. “Potter,” he replied cordially. He cleared his throat slightly before continuing. “I was wondering if you would like to come through and watch some films.”

 

Everything paused as Draco and Potter stared at one another through the fire. Then, it seemed like time fast forwarded, Potter smiled once more and chirruped a  _ “Sure!” _ and then Draco was stepping back as Potter walked through the flames and into his living room for the first time. To be completely candid, Draco hadn’t thought far enough ahead to what he would do if he, somehow, managed to convince Potter to come over. So, they stood there for a moment, uncertainty and a hint of awkwardness creeping in around them. 

 

Potter, ever the hero, came to the rescue. “Lovely place,” he remarked, looking around the living room with an appreciative eye. “It’s exactly what I expected, but not, at the same time.”

 

It successfully broke through Draco’s timidity. He laughed, “I’ll take that as a good thing.”

 

The other man grinned, smug. “Good, you were meant to.”

 

“Tea?” Draco asked suddenly, years of proper etiquette training kicking in. He led the way to the kitchen without waiting for a reply and began to bustle about as Potter hovered by the doorway. Draco spotted him out of the corner of his eye and smirked. “What, Potter, afraid I’ve got a Venomous Tentacula hidden in the pantry? I’m afraid that all my man-eating potted plants are dreadfully out of season.”

 

Potter snorted and shuffled into the room, taking a seat at the kitchen table when it was clear that Draco wasn’t going to shout at him to get out. “How tragic,” he murmured. “I’m sure Neville would have loved for me to grab a sample of one for him to fiddle with when he’s not teaching his classes.”

 

Draco made a noise of surprise, Summoning two mugs and the tin of Earl Grey tea from the cupboard as the kettle began to whistle on the hob. “So that rumor’s true? He’s assisting Professor Sprout?”

 

“For the next year or so, yes,” Potter replied. “Until she gets everything settled for her retirement and then he’ll take over completely. I’ve even heard Minerva talking with Flitwick about making him Deputy Headmaster after a few years; the students love him and he’s really great with them.”

 

“Good for Longbottom,” Draco said, meaning it. He felt awful for the way he’d treated the boy in school and had apologized not long after his trial via Floo Correspondence. It’d taken Longbottom a few weeks, but he’d eventually Owled Draco with an official acceptance of his apology. Draco was only a bit embarrassed to admit that he’d cried like a child at the sight of it. “Is he still seeing Hannah Abbott?”

 

He carried the two mugs over to the table and Levitated the sugar dish over before Summoning the milk from the fridge. Potter took a moment to prepare his tea and take a sip before replying. “Yup, I reckon they’re gonna wind up engaged here soon.”

 

They talked for a bit longer about old classmates and random tidbits of gossip they’d heard lately, before Draco stood up and put their mugs in the sink and then led Potter to the living room once more. He took his time setting up the VCR as Potter got settled on the couch, the two of them chatting lightly to pick a movie. They decided on the Back to the Future trilogy, which was not-so-secretly Draco’s favorite. Once he’d put the first film in, he took his spot on the sofa and curled his legs underneath him. They were quiet as the film began, the VCR humming with effort, until the previews were halfway through. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have a VCR, Malfoy,” Potter stated, moving the cushion he was leaning against to rest in his lap.

 

Draco snorted. “Why is that?”

 

“Well,” Potter pondered. “You just seem more like the type to sit back and read instead of watching telly or a film, that’s all.”

 

“Hm.” Draco eyed Potter, who had refocused his attention on the telly screen. He turned to it himself, thinking of how much the two of them had grown and changed through the years.

 

They watched the film together, laughing together and sharing little bits of commentary here and there. At one point, Draco paused the film to go make popcorn whilst Potter went to the loo; and when they returned, they sat closer together without even discussing it.

 

Back to the Future Part Three ended eventually, leaving Draco and Potter sitting in silence with the empty popcorn bowl and beer bottles on the coffee table. Draco pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees. “Thank you, Potter,” he whispered after a moment.

 

Potter mimicked his position, green eyes bright as he furrowed his brows in confusion. “What for?”

 

_ Well, Merlin _ . Draco closed his eyes,  _ They were going to have a  _ **_moment_ ** _ , weren’t they? A  _ **_Talk_ ** _. Sweet Circe, help him.  _ “Malfoy?”

 

“For the past few weeks, I suppose,” he replied, keeping his eyes closed to make this easier for himself. “For inviting me to the game, for coming over tonight, just...for everything.”

 

Draco’s heart was rabbiting in his chest, knocking against his ribcage like a racehorse at the gate. Was this normal? The sweat collecting in his palms and the breath stuttering out of his lungs? Was being in love supposed to feel this dangerous and like he was on the verge of a heart attack? Draco froze.  _ Love?  _ Had he just thought that he was  _ in love  _ with Harry Bloody Potter? Of course, Draco knew his feelings for the man ran deeper than just lust or friendship, but  _ love?  _ Love the Boy Wonder? Draco thought he’d pass out.

 

Evidently, Potter thought the same, for the other man reached out and placed a tentative hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Malfoy, are you alright?”

 

_ No, I am bloody well not!  _ He wanted to scream.  _ I’m in love with you and terrified out of my mind about it, you dimwitted son of a prick!  _

 

“I’m fine,” he wheezed out instead, running both of his hands through his hair and unsubtly dislodging Potter’s hand from his person. He stood suddenly, making Potter lean back in surprise. “I think you should leave, Potter.”

 

The other man didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then slowly stood up and nodded his head. “Okay.” Draco couldn’t watch as Potter threw Floo Powder into the flames and disappeared without looking back. And he knew, without a doubt, that Potter had taken his heart right along with him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that the rating for this story has changed, and that is strictly because of this following chapter. Enjoy! xx

Draco sat at his kitchen table, cup of tea and blueberry scone sitting untouched in front of him. Instead, his attention was focused on the days’ newspaper or, more specifically, its’ headline:  **Potter Seeking Love?: Boy Who Lived Attends Harpies VS. Wasps Match With Ex-Death Eater.**

 

_ Harry Potter, 19, who is more commonly known as the Boy Who Lived by the Wizarding World, was met by controversy this past Friday when he attended the latest Holyhead Harpies and Wimbourne Wasps Quidditch match accompanied by none other than Draco Malfoy, 19, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy  _ _ née  _ _ Black. Malfoy hasn’t been spotted in the Wizarding World in recent months, due to his past affiliation with Lord Voldemort's’ Death Eaters. His own father is in Azkaban Prison for war crimes with a sentence of ten years with no probation.                                        _

 

Draco stopped reading after that, too queasy to continue. He’d already had to ward off his windows and close his Floo to keep the Howlers out (he reckoned he’d hear from the DMLE for that, considering the Howlers had exploded outside his flat). It wasn’t like Draco hadn’t been aware of possible backlash from his and Potters’ “fraternisation”, but he’d been quietly holding out hope that he’d be unreachable in his little bubble in the Muggle World. No such luck. And now it was too late to go back. It’d been printed in the  _ Prophet  _ and spread across the country; Draco’d basically laid himself out across the spit. He wished he’d been stronger, turned Potter away when he’d contacted him those weeks ago. If he had then he’d still be safe. He shot a glance towards the Cosmic Locket next to the newspaper; and he’d still have two wishes left. 

 

It had hit him last night after Potter left and he’d remembered the incredibly stupid second wish. Now he could put an explanation to why Potter kept coming back, kept smiling at Draco and treating him like an actual fucking person. The Locket was working its magic; Potter was in love with Draco, even if he didn’t yet know it himself.

 

“Fuck.” Draco heaved out a gasping sob and buried his head in his hands. “What have I done?”

 

**& &&**

 

Draco nervously straightened his blazer and tucked his hands in his trouser pockets, feeling the outline of the locket in his sweaty grasp. The early October air was unusually warm that day as he walked through the cluttered campus of the University of Oxford. It’d taken him some digging and bribery to Blaise to locate Hermione Granger. He was unsurprised to discover she’d decided to further her education, studying Magical Law at the Wizarding Division of Oxford. A perfect career for her, in Draco’s mind; she would exceed with flying colors. Once, Draco had thought he’d be in her shoes, attending a prestigious uni to better seat himself within the Ministry. But times had changed and so had Draco. 

 

He made his way into the Manor Road Building, casting a quick look around before disappearing into the first broom closet he saw. He pushed aside a bunch of rank smelling mops and brooms with missing bristles to show a section of wall with chipped paint and plaster. He removed his wand from his blazer sleeve and tapped around the spot, forming a W, and before his eyes the wall gave away into a hallway littered with paper aeroplane memos flying about and lively chatter. Draco was surprised at this, since it was a Very Serious law school, but concluded that a lecture must have just been dismissed. 

 

He walked down the hall towards a Welcome Desk and waited to catch the frazzled wizards attention. “Excuse me?” He asked. “Could you tell me where I could find Hermione Granger?”

 

The Welcome Wizard eyed him for a moment, then replied. “I’m sorry,  _ sir _ , but we don’t hand out student information without proper identification or paperwork.”

 

Draco pursed his lips and opened his mouth to fire off a retort, but was interrupted by a voice to his left. “Malfoy?”

 

He turned to see Granger standing there, leather satchel hanging from her shoulder and arms filled with books. “Ah, Granger,” Draco said lightly, turning away from the disgruntled Welcome Wizard. “Could I have a word, please?”

 

She looked supremely confused, but nodded. “Of course, follow me.” Granger turned and nodded to the Welcome Wizard. “Thank you, Carmichael. Could you get Mr. Malfoy as visitors badge, please?”

 

“Right away, Miss. Granger.” Draco hid a smirk against his shoulder as Carmichael turned to a slip of purple parchment and wrote out Draco’s name, waving his wand to stamp it with the university crest and then Charming it to pin itself fiercely to Draco’s lapel. He didn’t even flinch, not wanting to give Carmichael the satisfaction. “Enjoy your visit,  _ Mr. Malfoy _ .”

 

Draco smoothed down his blazer and then turned to Granger. “Lead the way.”

 

**& &&**

 

They were sat in a disused lecture hall, which Granger set about warding so they wouldn’t be interrupted or eavesdropped on. Draco took a seat in the front row of seats and waited for Granger to do the same. “So,” she began, setting her books and satchel at the seat next to his and standing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest. She struck a formidable appearance, Draco had to admit, but he’d long since stopped being afraid of Granger; he’d lived with Bellatrix Lestrange and Lord Voldemort, Hermione Granger was a kitten with a ball of yarn compared to that pair. “What did you want to discuss?”

 

Draco reached into his pocket, ignoring the way Grangers’ grip tightened on her wand, and pulled out the Cosmic Locket. “I was wondering what you would make of this, exactly.”

 

Granger, curiosity getting the better of her, reached out without hesitation and took the locket from his grasp. Draco rested his hands in his lap and watched. She twisted the piece of jewelry this way and that, examining the way it shone and sparkled in the dim lighting of the room. Then, she raised a brow at Draco. “Why, I do believe this is a locket.”

 

Draco couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes, taking the locket back and running his fingers over the cage-like exterior. “Yes,  _ thank you _ , Granger. That much I knew for myself.”

 

“Then what were you hoping I’d say?” She interrogated, narrowing her eyes at him before they widened in alarm. “You didn’t curse that did you?”

 

He scowled, stuffing the locket back in his pocket and standing so suddenly that Granger took a hasty step back away from him. “Yes, because I’d be stupid enough to curse you in public when I’ve been spotted with you. Numpty,” he added for a sense of vicious satisfaction. He didn’t let the guilt nibble at him either. If Granger wanted to think he was the same twat he’d been at Hogwarts, then so be it; who was he to smash her dreams? He went to stand next to the professor's’ desk, Granger following his every step. 

 

They were surrounded by relative silence for a moment, the only noise the clock on the wall ticking along, and Draco found himself unknowing what to say next. Gryffindors, it seemed, had a sixth sense for when to save the day. Granger broke the silence. “What are you doing with Harry?”

 

Draco snorted, leaning his hip against the mahogany wood desk. A thick layer of dust lay atop it, a line of it appearing on his navy blazer, but Draco paid it no mind. “Now, Granger, surely you know that in polite company a couples--”

 

“You’re not a couple.” The matter-of-fact way it came out of Grangers mouth stopped Draco in his tracks, as did the stern furrow of her brow.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“At least not a real couple,” Granger corrected herself. “Don’t look so surprised--Harry’s my best friend, he tells me everything! I’m the one who helped him dress for the Quidditch match, anyway.”

 

Draco deflated, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t about to be subjected to another lecture, and tried to push aside the hurt at the reminder of his and Potters’ true relationship status (or lack, thereof). “Ah,” he murmured hollowly. “I see.”

 

“So, therefore,” she continued, softening her expression slightly and gazing at Draco with deep brown eyes far too understanding for his liking. “I’d like to know why you’re doing this. Are you trying to redeem yourself?”

 

A scowl formed on Draco’s lips. “I don’t care what the Wizarding World thinks of me any longer,” he griped. “I’m simply helping Potter; repaying my debt, as it were.”

 

Surprisingly, that answer didn’t seem to please Granger, who huffed harshly and ran her hands over her fluffy ponytail. “Is that all you needed me for?” She questioned, nodding towards Draco’s pocket. “Jewelry advice? Because I have classes I need to study for, Malfoy, and do not have the time to tend to your whims.” He swore he heard her mutter a harsh  _ “boys!”  _ under her breath, but could have been imagining it.

 

“Yes.” Draco pushed away from the desk as Granger collected her things, shrinking her books and putting them in her leather satchel before swinging it over her shoulder. He held the door open for her as she dismantled the wards, releasing them back into the noisy, nosy, world. “Thank you, Granger.”

 

She gave him an indecipherable look. “Have a nice day, Malfoy.” And then she was gone, disappearing with the latest crowd of students, and leaving Draco bewildered and slightly numb from the experience. 

 

He spotted Carmichael the Welcome Wizard eyeing him from across the room over the top of  _ Witch Weekly _ .  **Potter And Malfoy?!** , read the headline.  **A Match To Be Matched?** He shot the man a wave and then turned to the exit. “Merlin, give me strength.”

 

**& &&**

 

He spent the next few days avoiding the Wizarding World like the plague. Daphne, Blaise, and his  _ mother  _ had all Owled him numerous times, but Draco left them unopened on the kitchen table. He only left the flat for work, where he slaved over clocks and wirelesses and tellies under Lionel’s careful eye. “Something bothering you, my boy?” The older man asked after the third time Draco misplaced the Phillips head screwdriver and his work spectacles (which had been resting on his head the whole time).

 

“Peachy,” Draco huffed. He closed up the back of the wireless and turned the dial, letting NSYNC croon out of the speakers and fill the back room of Curios. 

 

“Are you sure?” Lionel set down his cuppa and took the tools from Draco to put them in their rightful place as the blonde began to fill out the invoice for Mr. Jefferson. The man could finally get back to listening to his footy whilst fiddling in his back shed. “You’ve seemed...off the past few days. Everything alright with that fellow of yours? Harry, was it?”

 

Draco closed his eyes in exasperation, conceding to the fact that Lionel wasn’t going to let the subject drop. He understood why some people wanted to off their bosses, suddenly. “He’s not my fellow,” he gave in. “Not really.”

 

There had been a few moments in Draco’s short nineteen years of living where he had been witness to the wisdoms of age. The first had been at his Grandmother Yvette Malfoy’s deathbed, when the woman had looked the Reaper in the eye with acceptance and without fear. The next had been on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts all those years ago, facing down Dumbledore and his promise of safety; the old man calm and solemn until the very end. The last, and most recent, time was when Draco’s fathers’ sentence had been decided and his mother had taken it with a stoic sense of grace, no matter how angry and devastated she had felt over the matter. There was no arguing with the Wizengamot, not after what they had done. The Malfoys were one of the few families left able to pay their reparations; and pay they had. 

 

Now, Draco found himself on the receiving end of one of Lionel Maris’ patented Grandfatherly Look. “But you want him to be,” he stated, causing Draco to avert his eyes to the workbench where his hands were resting. He picked at the stained wood with a manicured nail absently as Lionel continued. “Lad, you can’t spend your life standing ashore and watching the ships pass you by. If you really care for this boy, you need to tell him, before someone else comes along and snatches him up.”

 

Draco snorted. “You make it sound as if he’s shark food, Lionel,” he pointed out, laughing when Lionel nodded in agreement. 

 

“The price of age, young Draco,” the older gentleman said grandly. “Is that you start speaking in ocean-related metaphors. So, take it from a fish who knows, choose your tide wisely.”

 

**& &&**

 

Sweat was collecting in his palms, but Draco still stood in front of the door without knocking. He’d been stood in front of Potter’s flat for about twenty minutes, wondering if he was doing the right thing, when the door suddenly opened and Potter’s cousin, Dudley, appeared before Draco. He jumped about a foot in the air, cursed spectacularly, and pressed a hand to his chest to settle his pounding heart. “Alright there, mate?” Dudley questioned, smirking slightly as he leaned against the doorjamb.

 

Draco collected himself, ignoring his shaking hands, and replied. “Is Potter available?”

 

Dudley examined Draco. “Are you his boyfriend?” He asked after a moment, just when Draco was beginning to think he’d checked out for good.

 

He blinked owlishly. Bit his lip. Stuffed his hands into his pockets nervously. “No, I’m not. We’re just friends,” he finally denied.

 

The other mans’ face took on a expression of alarm. “I’m not saying it’d be a bad thing, if you were, I was just curious. Harry’s been running his gab about you a lot lately, so--”

 

“He’s been what?” Draco squeaked, feeling his cheeks heating up as Dudley lifted his gaze from Draco’s scuffed boots to his eyes. 

 

A short pause passed between them, where both Draco and Dudley eyed each other with surprise. “I shouldn’t have said that,” Dudley muttered and sighed. “Harry’s not here right now, anyway. He had to cover for that professor he assists.” At the slight dip of Draco’s shoulders he quickly continued. “But I can tell him you stopped by, wen he gets back.”

 

“Of course,” Draco nodded and turned to leave. “Thank you, Dudley.”

 

After the uneventful (or eventful, whichever way you looked at it) trip to Potter’s flat, Draco roamed around London. On the rare occasion that he wasn’t working or hanging out with his friends, Draco liked to use public transport. Buses, the tube, Addison Lees, you name it. The summer after Hogwarts, he’d especially liked renting a bike and riding along the Thames. Until he’d started working at Curios and decided to buy and fix up one of his own. He had it stored away at the moment, but couldn’t wait to ride it once the weather became agreeable once more. Draco boarded the bus behind a young woman with a toddler, who kept staring at him with wide eyes, and swiped his Oyster card before scoping out a place to stand.

 

It was nearing midday and the bus was crowded with both tourists and those lucky enough to be able to commute for lunch. Draco let the young woman have one of the last available seats and took hold of the handrail above her head. The toddler was still staring up at him, perched on the woman’s lap and gumming on a stuffed dragon, to Draco’s utter amusement. He made a funny face and the toddler squealed with delight, causing the young woman to look up and offer Draco a small, tired smile when he gave her a sheepish one of his own. A quick nod was exchanged between them before they both went about their separate lives once more.

 

He had no idea where he was going, just moving along. The woman and child had departed two stops ago, when Draco looked out the window at the next and froze. Quick as a snitch, he was up and out of his seat, clambering off the bus with a hasty  _ “thank you”  _ thrown to the driver over his shoulder. The thought had been nagging at him since he’d made the wish; people would surely ask where his Dark Mark had gone. He’d been careful to hide it, so far, not willing to let any trace of the Cosmic Lockets’ magic show and expose him. Who knew what would happen if it got into the wrong hands. Draco looked up at the neon sign, proclaiming the Iron Dog Tattoo Parlour open. Here lay an answer to at least one of his problems.

 

The inside was much cleaner than he thought it would be, with various pieces of pop art and sketches all over the walls. The till was to his left, a glass display case running along the wall and showing different types of body jewelry. A blonde man with a beard to put Hagrid’s to shame stood behind it, bent over a sketch pad with a pencil that was dwarfed in his meaty hand. Draco, far past being afraid of Muggle society, walked up to the counter, the man looking up from his work to help him. “What can I do for ya, mate?” He asked, setting aside the sketch he’d been working on.

 

“I’d like a tattoo,” Draco replied, rolling up the sleeve of his knit jumper to reveal his left forearm. “Right here, please.”

 

The man nodded and grabbed a sheet of paper from under the till. “Alright, I’ll just need you to fill this out and show some ID. Is this your first tattoo?”

 

Draco’s mouth went dry and he swallowed. “No,” he said softly, trying not to remember red eyes, clammy hands, and the cold laughter as a wand dug into the skin of his arm and burned that cursed mark into his flesh. “No, it’s not.”

 

**& &&**

 

Draco didn’t understand how people could cover their entire bodies with art; tattoos fucking itched like hell. It’d only been a day and a half, but the ink in his skin was already beginning to peel. He’d cared for it the Muggle way, at first, just until he could do some research to find the proper spells to heal it. It seemed the only differences between Muggle tattoos and magical tattoos was the movement of the latter. He’d been plastered to his couch for the past day, bingeing trashy telly whilst waiting for Potter to contact him. So, when the telephone rang, he tossed the clicker aside and sprang to answer without thinking of the fact that if Potter were to call, he’d most definitely do it by Floo. If only because he wouldn’t think Draco to have a telephone. “Hello?” His voice was slightly breathless from his brief fight with the receiver.

 

_ “Jesus, Draco, did you run to the phone?”  _ Penny’s voice chimed from the other end, sounding far too amused for Draco’s liking.  _ “Have you missed me that much?” _

 

He winced at the pointed tone of her voice. “Penelope, love, how are you this evening? Fetching as ever, I presume?”

 

Penny snorted inelegantly, before humming consideringly.  _ “Though I thankee for the compliment, flattery will get you nowhere. Now, where have you been?” _

 

He looked down at himself, sitting on his couch in red wine-stained joggers and Jack Wills t-shirt. “Currently, I’m on my couch, but I feel as if that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

 

He could almost hear the frown on her face.  _ “Des and I are having a get together tonight. A sort of baby shower with just our friends, laidback-like. You don’t need to bring a gift, just that fake boyfriend of yours. I want to meet him.” _

 

“Um, I’m not sure if--” Draco began, panicked, only for Penny to cut him off. 

 

_ “Sorry, love, no excuses! Ta ‘til tonight!” _

 

_ CLICK! _

 

Draco sighed, setting the receiver back into the cradle. He hadn’t realized he’d been mostly ignoring Penny and Des lately. Which was surprising, considering they used to hang out with at least once a week. In reality, this was a good thing; Draco could get out and be around people who wouldn’t spit and shout at him for “dating” Potter (at least not for the reasons he was quickly becoming used to). Then, though, came the fact that he would have to bring the sodding git along with him, after his little revelation the other night and his panic at the wish he’d trapped the other man in. To be quite frank, Draco wasn’t looking forward to later that night.  _ But,  _ he thought, gathering his courage about him like a shroud and striding the short distance to the fireplace,  _ life was full of worse things than having to attend a party with ones’ fake significant other. He really had no reason to complain.  _ Draco took a deep breath, kneeled down, and tossed the Floo powder into the fire. “Harry Potter’s Flat!”

 

**& &&**

 

Draco nervously knocked on the door, hands slightly sweating around the neck of the 1969  _ Château La Tour du Roch-Milon  _ that Gippy, one of the Manor’s House Elves, had grabbed from the wine cellar and delivered to him for the occasion. He tried to ignore the heat of Potter behind him, how the other man’s broad chest almost pressed flush to his back. The few inches Draco had on the brunette meant that Potter’s breath ghosted over the back of his neck and Draco fought the urge to tilt his head to the side in a flinch to protect the sensitive back of his ears. 

 

It’d been surprisingly easy to coerce Potter into coming along with him, the other man seeming almost abnormally excited about meeting Penny and Des. Draco daren’t question it; Potter’s doing him the favor of not bringing up the awkwardness of the other night, it was best not to tempt fate. A moment passed, two, three, before Penny, somehow even more pregnant than the last time he saw him, opened the door with a wide grin and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Draco!” She cried, throwing her arms around his shoulders and hugging him the best she could with her belly in the way. “I swear, I’ll be glad when I can hug people properly once more without fear of knocking someone down. I turned from the workbench earlier after preparing the lemon bars and nearly took Tessa and the finger sandwiches to the floor.” She huffed in exasperation, turning to look behind Draco and finally acknowledging Potter. “Oh, how embarrassing! Here I am rambling about my pregnancy instead of introducing myself. Penelope Lewis,” she held out a hand to Potter, who gladly shook it with a returning smile. “But you can call me Penny.”

 

“Harry Potter. It’s nice to meet you, Penny, Draco’s told me nothing but pleasant things.” 

 

Draco jumped discreetly at the use of his given name and shot Potter a look out the corner of his eye. He’d have to remind him that since they weren’t in the Wizarding public at the moment, they didn’t have to pretend to be anything more than friends. They could just have a night to get to know each other better as just friends. Draco tried not to let the thought cause him pain. Penny laughed lightly, shoking him back into the present situation. “I’m sure he has. I’ve heard some interesting things about you, as well.”

 

Draco ignored her smirk and Potter’s curious gaze. Instead, he gestured towards the inside of the flat with the bottle of wine. “I brought a postpartum gift for you. Where shall I set it?”

 

“Des is in the kitchen, he can show you,” Penny replied, stepping back to allow him and Potter entrance. “I’ll introduce you to everyone, Harry.”

 

Draco smiled encouragingly at Potter when he raised a brow in question and the other man returned the expression. “That’d be lovely, thank you, Penny.”

 

He left the two of them to socialize with the others in the living room, offering those who caught his eye small nods and waving the wine bottle as an excuse not to yet join their conversations. It wasn’t overly crowded, what with Penny and Des having about a dozen close friends between the two of them, and Draco found he knew almost everyone there.  Des was in the kitchen where Penny said he would be, leaning over a tray of cocktail weenies with a hungry gleam in his eye. “Careful there, mate,” Draco interrupted, grinning when Desmond jumped a meter in the air and placed a hand over his heart.

 

“Christ, Draco! Warn a bloke, would ya!” Des laughed and backed away from the weenies to envelope Draco in a hug, pounding him thrice on the back.

 

“Penny said you could tell me where to put this,” Draco carried on, brandishing the wine. 

 

Desmond, if it’s at all possible, looked even more excited at the sight of the alcohol. He whisked it out of Draco’s hands and raised it towards the heavens. “Ah,  _ best gift _ ! Draco, you’re a lifesaver!”

 

Draco snorted as Desmond turned to place the bottle of wine in the fridge. “Yes, because the birth of your first child isn’t that great of a gift.”

 

“Touché,” Desmond retaliated, grabbing out two beers and handing one of them to the younger man. “Best gift,  _ so far _ , then.”

 

The two of them exited the kitchen and made their way to the living room where everyone was gathered. Draco’s eyes found Potter immediately, surrounded by Penny and her friends. “That your boy?” Desmond asked, motioning towards the group with his beer. 

 

Draco felt his cheeks go red and took a sip from his own drink. “Not actually my boy, remember Des?”

 

“And how’s that going for you so far?” Draco scowled at the cheeky grin Desmond sent him and the older man laughed before wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders. “Don’t give me that look. You’re the one with a crush on your fake boyfriend.”

 

Draco didn’t answer, he was too busy watching Potter laugh at something Penny’s friend, Regina, was saying to him. He was so fucked. Potter looked up at him in that moment and the smile that came upon his face was so sweet and private that Draco blushed vermillion and wished they were alone. He was  _ beyond  _ fucked.

 

**& &&**

 

Draco thought the world was spinning. He was sat on Penny and Des’ couch, ignoring Robert bang on about a girl named Aoife that had just started working at his office. Instead, his attention was focused on Potter. Perfect Potter whose hair was sticking up more than usual due to his hands running through it. Potter who appeared to be just as drunk as Draco, if the screwdriver in his hand and his position in Violet’s lap was anything to go by. They’d been tiptoeing around each other all night, some unspoken agreement going between the two of them, and Draco could feel the energy swiftly turning into something electric. Their magic reached out for each others’ and Draco could tell the exact moment Potter realized this. The wide grin on his face dimmed slowly into a frown of confusion and his bleary green eyes turned towards Draco. When their gazes connected, a shock went up Draco’s spine and he was up and out of his seat before he realized. “Oi, careful mate!” Robert scolded as Draco swayed, his hands reaching out to steady him. Potter’s eyes, still locked on Draco, narrowed at the sight and Robert suddenly let out a yelp. “Fuck, what was that?”

 

Draco watched the slight smirk twist Potter’s lips and clapped Robert on the shoulder. “Soz, mate, didn’ mean t’ shock ya,” he drawled, then put one foot in front of the other and shakily made his way towards the object of his affections. 

 

Potter stood before he could reach him and met him halfway, colliding into him like a magnet to metal. “Malfoy,” he whispered, grabbing Draco’s elbows in his broad hands. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

 

Green eyes were blinking up at Draco underneath dark eyelashes, his heart was stuttering in his chest, and his mind was screaming at him  _ this is a terrible idea Draco don’t do it Draco don’t be a fucking idiot _ . “Yeah,” Draco breathed back, watching the way Potter’s tongue poked out to moisten his lower lip. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

 

**& &&**

 

Draco pushed open the front door of his flat so hard that it slammed mutely against the wall. Behind him, holding onto the back of Draco’s coat, Potter let out a snort. “Smooth, Malfoy,” he snickered.

 

“Hush, you,” Draco replied, reaching back and dragging Potter into the flat by the front of his cable knit jumper. The beer he’d had was fizzing through his bloodstream and making his head spin as he closed the door and pressed Potter’s back against it. His face was flushed a pretty pink and his green eyes were hazy with drink, but so were Draco’s. The good thing about alcohol, though, was that he couldn’t overthink anything with it in his system. “Are you going to kiss me or not, Potter?”

 

He didn’t need telling twice. Draco’s breath hitched as Potter’s lips met his; they were warm and plush and tasted of orange juice and vodka. One of Potter’s hands wound its way into Draco’s hair, while the other grasped at his waist. Draco had both of his hands clutched at Potter’s shoulders, grip tightening with each mesh of mouths. It was the best thing and the worst thing all rolled into one. He’d been imagining this moment for years, since he was fourteen and his pulse had roared in his eardrums with some other emotion other than anger at the sight of a gangly, bespeckled boy gripping the handle of a broom and a golden dragons’ egg. Potter had always been on Draco’s mind; whether he was hating him or envying him or loving him fiercely. 

 

“Draco, Draco,” the aforementioned boy murmured into Draco’s mouth, his hands clenching where they grasped at him. Potter pulled away to nose at Draco’s jaw, lips damp and breath hot against his pale skin. “Bedroom, please.”

 

Draco groaned, the sound catching him by surprise. “Circe, yes, c’mon.”

 

Their hands met and fingers tangled together as Draco led Potter through the living room and down the hallway towards his bedroom. He was too drunk and worked up to care about the mess; trousers and shirts flung about from when he had been searching for an outfit earlier that night, duvet and sheets bunched at the bottom of his bed, half empty cup of tea sat on the bedside table. Potter spun Draco around when they entered the room, his hands running down the blondes’ chest before clutching the hem of the jumper and tugging on it. “Lift up,” he ordered, not even waiting for Draco to obey before he was yanking the soft fabric up to his underarms, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. As Potter flung his jumper across the room, Draco began fumbling with his belt and tried to kick off his boots at the same time. Potter laughed at the sight and pulled his own jumper up over his head, causing his glasses to fall off his face and onto the floor and his already messy hair to stand on end. Draco thought there couldn’t have been a more attractive sight in the world. He finally got his shoes off and shucked his trousers down to his calves when Potter reached for him and slid his hands under his t-shirt, cold fingers brushing over sensitive skin.

 

“ _ Shiiiiiiit _ ,” Draco hissed, tipping his head back as Potter’s hands came up to rub over his pectorals and his quickly hardening nipples. “God, keep doin’ that.” Potter hummed in agreement and leaned forward to kiss Draco again, his lips detaching after a moment to trail down the long column of the older man’s neck.

 

Draco’s chest was heaving, the nerves of the situation tingling within his stomach, but he didn’t dare stop Potter’s ministrations. They worked together to get the rest of Potter’s clothes off, his jeans going to lay on the floor beside Draco’s chest of drawers and his trainers kicked towards the closet. The room had grown deathly quiet, all to be heard their heavy breathing and the rustle of the bed sheets as Potter pushed Draco down onto it. “This okay?” The former man asked, as he crawled his way up onto the bed to hover over Draco.

 

“More than,” the blonde replied, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Potter’s neck. “Keep going.” Potter obliged, pressing his lips to Draco’s neck and working his way slowly down his chest and stomach. Draco shivered when a tongue flicked out to teasingly lick at his navel, before strong hands were tugging on his pants and Draco was lifting his hips. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Harry Potter was in his bed, kissing him, undressing him, making him impossibly harder by the  _ second holy shit.  _ “Sonofabitch,” Draco gasped, as Potter’s wet lips closed around the head of his dick. He clenched his hands in the other mans’ messy hair and gave the strands a scolding tug. “ _ Fuck,  _ Potter, don’t stop.”

 

Draco had received blow jobs before (okay, so three, but he’d been otherwise occupied the last few years. Not much time to get your dick wet when you’re trying not to be murdered by a Dark Lord), but this one had to take the cake. Potter knew exactly how to push Draco to the edge, he was just surprised that skill carried over into the bedroom. Draco let out a loud groan as Potter swallowed down more of him, his tongue doing a  _ fantastic  _ maneuver against the prominent vein and one hand traveling from Draco’s hips to tease at his balls. 

 

The pace increased, then, Potter’s head bobbing frantically between his legs and Draco’s breath getting steadily heavier until, finally, he had to tug at the other mans’ hair. “Stop,  _ stop,  _ I’m gonna cum!”

 

Potter pulled off with a wet pop that had Draco wrinkling his nose. “That’s kind of the idea, isn’t it?” He drawled, throaty voice making Draco swallow to wet his suddenly dry throat.

 

“Well, yes,” he acquiesced, Potter began to lean back down and Draco pulled him back by his hair again. “ _ But, _ ” Draco licked his lips and finished his sentence in a whisper. “I’d like to do that with you inside me, wouldn’t you?”

 

If it were any other moment, Draco would’ve laughed at the dumbstruck expression that came over Potter’s face. “Y-yeah,” Potter muttered, sounding breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Brilliant,” Draco replied, smacking a quick kiss to Potter’s lips before reaching over to his bedside table and pulling his bottle of lube out of the drawer. He tossed it at Potter’s frozen form before settling back on the pillows. “Get to work then, Potter.”

 

Green eyes looked up at him and plump lips twisted into a smirk. “Yes, sir,” he quipped, before popping open the lid of the bottle. He paused for a moment, “Do you have any condoms?”

 

Draco snorted and threw an arm over his eyes. “Condoms? Really? Are you or  _ aren’t you _ a wizard, Potter?”

 

“Oh, right.”

 

After grabbing his wand from his discarded trousers and casting the necessary protection charms, Potter returned to his position between Draco’s legs and finally coated his fingers in lube. “Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asked, voice dropped to a whisper with the nerves of the moment.

 

Draco shifted his arm so he could see Potter and gave him a nod. “Alright.” The first finger entered without much resistance, Draco jumping slightly at the cold of the lubricant and Potter muttering apologies. Draco pushed back on Potter’s finger after a few thrusts. “Another,” he pleaded, breathily. 

 

Potter fingered him like he was making a competition of it; goading Draco on with each twist and turn of his fingers, soothing his wins with nipping kisses to the tops of Draco’s thighs. Finally, after seemingly ages, Potter pulled his fingers out and left Draco panting into the hands he’d covered his face with. “Ready?” Potter, no, at this point Draco couldn’t keep calling him by his surname. The bloke had had his fingers’ up his arse, after all. He was Harry now. “Draco?”

 

“I’m ready.” Harry nodded and grabbed the bottle of lube once more, slicking his cock thoroughly before tossing the bottle aside. Draco grabbed a pillow from behind his head and tucked it underneath his hips, Harry helping him situate it before his hands went to rest on Draco’s hips.

 

Harry’s cock was of a decent size and the perfect girth and Draco’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of Harry positioning himself before he stopped breathing altogether as it began to enter him. “Breathe, Draco,” Harry murmured, running coarse fingertips over the sensitive skin of Draco’s sides. “You need to relax.”

 

“I’m fucking relaxed,” Draco hissed as Harry slid in another inch, clenching his hands in the sheets. Harry carefully lowered himself down so that he was hovering over Draco with his elbows on either side of his head. Draco opened his eyes and met green. 

 

“Breathe, Draco.” Harry smiled encouragingly at him and placed a kiss to Draco’s lips. Then, he went back to shoving his dick in Draco’s ass.

 

Sex wasn’t something that had ever been heavy on Draco’s mind outside of wanking, but he could finally say that if it felt like this every time, then he could definitely get onboard. Harry Potter couldn’t be real, there was no way. How could he be good at everything? “Harry,” Draco gasped as the other man thrust and hit against a spot inside of him that sent tingles up his spine and had his arms coming up to grasp Harry’s shoulders. “Merlin, do that again.  _ Please,  _ do that again!”

 

They were both panting, their breaths mingling together with each moan and whimper. At one point, Harry’s mouth bumped against Draco’s and just didn’t detach. They kissed messily, Draco’s nails digging into the skin of Harry’s back and causing the dark haired man to moan filthily into his mouth. The blonde reached down to stroke his own cock in time with Harry’s thrusts, pleasure growing with each one, and it wasn’t long until he came with a drawn out whimper. “ _ Harry! _ ” He came all over his stomach, spunk smearing where Harry’s torso rubbed his with each trust. Draco pushed away his own afterglow to pull Harry closer, whispering encouragements in his ear. “C’mon, Harry, c’mon.  _ Fuck,  _ you’re so good. Perfect, Potter.”

 

Harry grunted as he orgasmed, stilling in Draco’s arms before collapsing onto of the older man. He didn’t even care, too fixated on the feeling of Harry’s release inside of him and the absolute perfection of the moment. The exhaustion of the night (the party and alcohol and the physical ending) finally grabbed hold of Draco and he slipped into unconsciousness between two heartbeats, Harry’s breath lulling him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, could you tell that was the first sex scene I've ever written? Was it okay? oh well, too late now lol *shrugs sheepishly*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are allusions to dubious consent in this chapter. It's not explicit or anything, but Draco has a moment where he believes there's been consent issues between himself and Harry. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is not as long as the past few have been, but it was still hard to write for some reason. I think it's because we're nearing the end. I don't want it to be over. Just one more chapter and the epilogue left, folks, and then we'll have to say farewell.

Draco woke up and immediately felt like dying. His head was pounding, muted and heavy like a drum, and his mouth tasted of cheap, stale beer. He vaguely registered that he was naked beneath his bed sheets, skin sticky with sweat and...other things. Draco felt a rising sense of panic within him as he recalled the hazy events of the night before. He and Harry on this bed, exerting their frustrations in a mutually pleasing way. Or, he thought so, but apparently Harry didn’t feel the same way. Draco cracked open an eye to see that the sheets on the other side of the bed were pushed back and a quick pat of his hand upon the cold sheets told him that Harry had gotten up some time ago.

 

Feeling a heaviness settle in his gut, Draco carefully shuffled out of bed and towards the en suite. He fished a Hangover Potion from the medicine cabinet and downed it quick, sighing in relief when the pounding in his skull began to fade. He forewent a shower; instead, running a damp cloth over his chest and stomach before washing his face. Succumbing to his lonely fate and in desperate need of a cuppa, Draco went back to his room and dressed in a pair of heather grey joggers and nothing else. His eyes caught sight of the new tattoo on his arm and, without a second thought to the dark feeling in his stomach, Draco reapplied the Glamour that had faded throughout the night. 

 

Walking slowly, because his stomach was still churning dubiously from both alcohol and potion, Draco made his way out into the hallway. And promptly stopped in his tracks. The sound of voices was carrying from the kitchen and Draco recognized both of them. “...well, I’m sure you could imagine my surprise.”

 

“Definitely. I’m sorry you had to find out that way, Mrs. Malfoy, I thought Draco would have told you.”

 

Draco’s breath hitched at the sound of Harry’s voice, his heart kicking up a fuss in his chest. He was pleased to see that he’d been wrong and Harry hadn’t left; though he was less than pleased to know who else was in his flat.

 

“Draco’s always been a relatively private person,” his mother replied after a moment. At the sound of chinking porcelain, he could imagine her delicately sipping at a cup of tea. “I’m afraid that’s Lucius’ influence. As a Malfoy, one must always keep his affairs private.” Draco was surprised to hear an inelegant snort escape her. “And other such rot.”

 

Surprised silence followed her words. Draco felt as if he’d never met his mother. In the months that had followed his fathers’ imprisonment, Narcissa had been tight-lipped about her own feelings. Instead, she’d been focused solely on Draco; trying to persuade him to forgive Lucius and see his father in a new light. He had, just not in the one she was hoping. It was clear his mother still loved his father, but it’d take more than a few supervised visits for her to forgive him for endangering their son. “Draco’s also a terrible snoop,” she stated suddenly, causing Draco to startle. “You may as well enter, darling.”

 

He reluctantly shuffled towards the doorway and finally got a good look at the odd pair sitting in his kitchen. Harry, it seemed, had dug through Draco’s dresser. He was wearing a pair of paint stained jogging bottoms and the t-shirt he’d worn last night. His glasses were slipping down his nose and his hair was stood on end; Draco thought he looked lovely. His mother, on the other hand, was dressed in lavender robes with her blonde hair pinned up in a bun. She was wearing the pearl necklace and earrings that Draco had gotten her for her birthday the year before. They had a pot of tea between the two of them. Draco had the strange urge to burst into hysterical laughter; Harry Potter, having tea with Narcissa Malfoy like they were old chums.

 

“Um,” Draco began eloquently, clearing his throat when his voice came out hoarse. “Good morning?”

 

His mother stood from her chair and walked towards him, pulling him into an embrace and kissing both of his cheeks. “Good morning, my love,” she greeted pleasantly, leading him towards the table and all but pushing him into the chair next to Harry. “I made you some coffee,” she said, setting his French press on the table in front of him, along with a mug. “I figured you’d like something a bit stronger this morning.”

 

Draco muttered his thanks and proceeded to make his coffee to his liking (splash of cream and lots of sugar). He took a cautious sip and then looked up to meet his mothers’ gaze. “I didn’t realize we had plans today, Mother, otherwise I would have been better prepared.”

 

“Not to worry, we didn’t,” she reassured, taking a sip of her tea. “I just stopped by to see why my only son was ignoring my letters.”

 

He felt a blush rise to his cheeks and heard Harry stifle a snicker into his cuppa. “I’ve been...busy.”

 

Narcissa hummed, not convinced. “Yes, attending professional Quidditch matches and what-not.”

 

Draco remained steadfast, bringing his mug to his lips and keeping eye contact with her whilst he sipped. “My apologies for not replying,” he finally replied, when their stare-off had gone on too long. He attempted to reach towards her sympathetic side. “I’ve been trying to help Harry through this whole process.” He set his mug down and met the other mans’ eyes. Draco tried to signal his apologies to Harry through eye contact, but wasn’t positive it worked. He turned back to his mother, who still looked sceptical, but less so.

 

“Yes, I was hoping we could discuss that.” She sat straighter and smoothed out her robes. “When were you planning on informing me of your homosexuality, Draco?”

 

He blinked. “I...thought you already knew?”

 

Narcissa scoffed. “Of course I knew! I’ve been waiting for you to tell me for years now.”

 

“Oh.” Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. He’d wondered for years how his mother could hold back her reaction, eventually putting it down to impeccable Black upbringing. In reality, it turned out, his mother was not disgusted. In fact, she seemed almost... _ pleased.  _

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she scolded. “I’m your mother, Draco. You could shoot the moon out of the sky and I would still love you fiercely.”

 

Heat spread from the tips of his ears down to his chest and he ducked his head over his coffee mug to hide the faint wetness that had come to his eyes. Looking at his lap, Draco saw when Harry reached out and placed a gentle hand on his knee, giving it a squeeze. He appreciated the support, but a tiny part of him wondered how much of Harry’s attitude at the moment was genuine and how much was because of the Locket. Draco cleared his throat and subtly adjusted his legs so that Harry pulled his hand away. “Thank you, mum.”

 

Narcissa reached across the table to rest a hand on his, giving it a quick reassuring pat. “So,” she began, after a pregnant pause where they all just sipped their hot drinks. “Have you any plans for today, you two?”

 

“Actually,” Harry said, setting his empty mug down on the table and glancing at the clock above the sink. “I’ve got to head to the Weasley’s for a bit, so I’m afraid I’m gonna have to leave.” He stood and pushed in his chair, holding his hand out for Draco’s mother to shake. “Mrs. Malfoy, it was nice to see you again. Thank you for the tea.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” she replied, smiling as she accepted his handshake. Draco watched her eye the two of them. “I hope to see more of you in the future.”

 

Despite the blush that was raising to his face, Harry smiled warmly. “Likewise.” He shot a quick look to Draco before going to set his mug in the sink and leaving the kitchen to go back to Draco’s room and change. 

 

There was an awkward moment where Draco and his mother just sat and stared at one another, before Draco quickly downed the rest of his coffee and got up to follow Harry. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Harry was in the bathroom when Draco came into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He grabbed a t-shirt from a small pile at the end of his bed and pulled it on, sitting on the end of the bed afterwards to wait for Harry. He exited two minutes later, wearing his jeans and jumper from the night before, his hair somewhat damp from wet fingers running through it. He saw Draco sitting at the end of the bed and smiled, walking towards him until he was standing between the older mans’ legs. Draco reached out and rested his hands on Harry’s waist, feeling the slight dip above his hips. Harry sighed and leaned down towards him and before Draco could do anything, they were kissing. 

 

It was a lot better sober, that was for certain. Harry placed his hands on either side of Draco’s neck, thumbs caressing his skin and making the blonde shiver. He tasted of Earl Grey and sugar, so sweet and perfect and Draco wished it could last forever. “If we stay in here any longer she’ll come looking for us,” he mumbled against Harry’s lips, smiling when the other man chuckled.

 

“And I don’t really want to scar your poor mother,” Harry replied, stepping back with one final kiss to Draco’s lips.

 

“C’mon.” Draco stood up and took Harry’s arm, “I’ll walk you out.”

 

When they passed the kitchen, Draco peered in to see his mum now directing the tea set towards the sink. He turned his attention back to Harry, who was stood with his back to the door and biting at his lip enticingly. “So, I had fun,” he said.

 

Draco’s cheeks went pink and Harry smirked. “Me too.”

 

They eyed each other from under eyelashes, like two Second Years with their first crush. Then, Harry broke the silence. “Would you like to go to the cinema with me tonight?”

 

“The cinema?” Draco raised his brows in question. “That’s where they show films, isn’t it?”

 

Harry smiled, obviously pleased that Draco actually knew what he was talking about. “Yeah, I’ve heard  _ The Sixth Sense  _ is pretty good, but I haven’t had a chance to see it myself. Wanna go with me?”

 

A tiny little voice in the back of his head told Draco to decline.  _ He’s not in his right mind. He wouldn’t be doing any of this if you hadn’t made that Wish.  _ At this realization, a cold wave of dread washed over him. He thought of the night before, of Harry’s hands and mouth all over his skin, and how it’d all been a lie. A lie that Draco had ignorantly started to believe. He couldn’t go to the cinema with Harry; in fact, he shouldn’t ever be allowed in his presence ever again, after what he’d done to the man. He knew all this, but still the words escaped him. “Sure, just owl me the time and place and I’ll meet you there.”

 

Harry smiled. “Alright, it’s a date. See you, Draco.” Then, he was opening the door behind his back and leaving. 

 

Draco stood still for a moment, his stomach rolling and the coffee he’d had protesting. He let out an animalistic noise and dropped to the floor, placing his head between his knees. “Draco?” His mother called; he heard her footsteps approach and then felt her kneel down beside him, her robes bunching together. “Oh, dear, are you alright?”

 

“What have I done, mum?” He muttered through the emotion welling in his throat. “I’m fucking disgusting, what have I done?” It was a testament to how awful he looked and sounded that she didn’t scold him for his foul language. He removed the Glamour from his arm, displaying the new tattoo. Narcissa gasped, reaching out to hover her fingers over the skin. “I love him, mum, but I’ve done something awful.”

 

Together they looked at the tattoo. It’s ink was black, still dark and fresh, and showed an image of a stag; it’s antlers were sturdy and proud as it gazed off into the distance and, nestled between the antlers, there lay a sleeping Arctic fox. It was at peace, forever watched over by the stag. 

 

Draco felt immeasurably worse at the sight of it. “What have I done?” He repeated once more.

 

**& &&**

 

~~_ Potter  _ ~~ _ Harry, _

_ I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to communicate anymore. I’ve realized some things about myself will never change and that you deserve much better than me as a  _ _~~friend~~ l ~~over~~ _ _ associate. Please accept my most sincerest apologies, I never meant for this to happen. I wish you all the best. _

~~_ Love _ ~~ _ Regards, _

_ Draco Lucius Malfoy _

 

_ P. S. I hope you enjoy the film, I’m sorry I won’t be able to attend _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THE LAST CHAPTER IS HERE! Only the epilogue left! I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get this chapter out, I was having laptop troubles and then writing troubles and (tbh) I was really bummed that this was ending and just didn't want to update for awhile. I also just started a new job last week so I haven't had as much time to write. BUT, here it is! I hope you enjoy! The epilogue should be out sometime this week, since I've already started it!

It’d been almost three weeks since he’d sent Harry that letter and he hadn’t heard so much as a word from the other man. Time was a funny thing; as you grew older it seemed to pass more quickly. Minutes into seconds, hours into minutes; until a year had passed you by seemingly in days. Draco acknowledged the passing days as little as possible, begging off work by telling Lionel that he’d come down with some sort of unknown illness that prevented him from leaving his flat.  He knew the older man didn’t believe him, but he didn’t really care; Lionel, it seemed, knew something serious must have happened to have Draco acting the way he was and smartly left it alone.

 

Others were not so inclined. 

 

Draco was bundled in his bed, staring at Artemis’ Locket where it lay on his other pillow (the same one Harry had used that night they spent together) when he heard the Floo come to life and Daphne’s voice rang out through his apartment. “Draco Lucius Malfoy!” She yelled, her footsteps sounding like thunder as they approached his bedroom. He burrowed deeper into his blankets until all that was visible of him were his hair and eyes. Daphne paused in the doorway when she saw him, hands on her hips and an exasperated expression on her face. At the sight of him, her features softened and she walked forward and crawled onto his bed with him without a word. Draco made no move to protest, instead staring up at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing; at the moment, it was, he’d Charmed it to look like the night sky and the constellations of his ancestors. It reminded him of Hogwarts and, therefore, of Harry and the sick feeling in his stomach would come back full force over and over again. “Darling, what’s wrong?” Daphne questioned, when the silence had gone on too long.

 

Instead of answering right away, he reached out and grabbed the Locket, handing it over to her. As she looked it over, eyes filled with awe and admiration, he spoke. “It’s called the Cosmic Locket,” he croaked. “It was created by the goddess Artemis and it has the power to grant a single person three wishes.” He finally met her surprised look with a weary one of his own and swallowed down the tears that tried to escape. “I’ve used it twice, already, and made a terrible mistake.”

 

Daphne placed the Locket on the bed between them, looking down at it as she processed Draco’s words. “What did you do?” She asked quietly.

 

Here, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes and Daphne lay down and pulled him close to her. “I wished for him to love me, Daph,” he sobbed, clutching his blankets with white-knuckled fists. “I wished for him to love me and we had sex and I actually deluded myself into thinking it was real for a night.” Draco gasped through the heaving of his chest, “I’m a fucking monster.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Daphne cooed, running a cool hand through his blonde hair and rocking him gently. “Draco, it’s okay.”

 

He snorted out a bitter laugh. “How the  _ fuck _ is it okay, Daphne?!”

 

“You’ve only used two wishes, right?” She elaborated, quickly carrying on when he nodded reluctantly. “Then just use your last wish to reverse it, but I’d explain everything to Potter beforehand. Just to help your piece of mind.”

 

Draco took a moment to think it over. Daphne had a point and, if anything, it couldn’t hurt to try and reverse it. And as for explaining everything to Harry, it was the least he could do. After all, he’d drunkenly made a wish that had drastically changed the other mans’ way of thinking. “I think you’re right,” he agreed, sitting up slowly and looking at the clock on the wall. If he took a quick shower and left right away, he could most likely make it in time for the students to be at lunch. He could hunt down Harry and explain everything all before his next class. He turned to look at Daphne as fear snuck it's chilly hands onto his skin. “Tell me everything will be alright.”

 

She smiled reassuringly and squeezed his bicep. “Everything will be alright, Draco.”

 

**& &&**

 

Draco Apparated into Hogsmeade and immediately pulled his cloak closer around himself. Now well into autumn, the Scottish air was bitter with cold wind and the threat of either icy rain or snow. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, as breathtaking in the midday sun as he remembered. Harry was inside the castle somewhere; grading papers or teaching a class, perhaps enjoying a cheeky brew in between lessons. Draco certainly would have if he were forced to be around preteens and teenagers every day.

 

The nerves came back once more, causing Draco to turn away from the castle abruptly. He took refuge in the first place he could think of; the Hogs’ Head was pleasantly barren, with only one or two other patrons lingering in the shadows. Aberforth looked up at Draco’s entry, his expression carefully blank as the young man approached. “Firewhisky, please,” Draco requested, taking a seat on a dingy looking barstool. Aberforth said nothing, but did Summon a shot glass and fill it before Levitating it over to Draco. “Thanks.”

 

Draco downed the shot and placed the glass back on the bartop. Without any prompting, it began to fill up once more. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years,” a soft voice spoke up beside him. “It’s that alcohol never solves your problems.”

 

He looked to the right and met the gaze of a very familiar old woman. She was dressed in as exuberant an outfit as the first time Draco had met her. A yellow gingham dress, blue stockings, a sunset orange cloak, with a lavender sun hat adorned with a rather large bow and green wellies. Two onyx-eyed Niffler brooches were pinned to her lapel. Honestly, the woman could give Lovegood a run for her money when it came to whimsical ensembles. Draco narrowed his eyes, his already foul mood deteriorating even more at the sight of her. “You,” he scowled, turning back to his shot of whisky and downing it in one go. “What d’ _ you _ want?”

 

The old woman clucked her tongue and hefted herself onto the stool next to Draco. “Now, I know you know how to speak to your elders,” she replied. Draco ignored her, downing another two shots before she finally sighed and continued. “What seems to be troubling you, Draco?”

 

He swallowed and pushed the shot glass away. The alcohol was beginning to warm his limbs and if continued at the rate he was going, he wouldn’t have the functionality to talk at all, let alone to Harry. “Why did you have to give me that damn locket?” He muttered, hanging his head and closing his eyes to hold back the emotions welling up inside of him. “Did I do something to your family in the war? Are you trying to get revenge?”

 

The woman spluttered, “Of course not, dear!”

 

“Then why are you ruining my life?!” 

 

Draco cast his eyes downward and tried to make himself seem small when Aberforth sent him a sharp look at his outburst. A resigned sigh came from beside him. “I’m not trying to ruin your life, Draco, dear; I’m trying to better it.”

 

He scoffed, “Better it?! By letting me make life-ruining wishes? By letting me get to know the person I’ve been half in love with for years? Thanks for that.”

 

Silence passed between them as Draco tried desperately to keep his tears at bay. He would not cry in front of this woman; he  _ would not _ . For the first time in awhile, he found himself hoping for a Time Turner and wondering if that was one of the things the Locket could get him. But that would just be a contradiction; to continue using the device that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. No, he would just wait until after he explained everything to Harry and then take back his wish.

 

A sudden sigh had Draco turning to the woman once more, to see that her kind eyes were looking up at him with sympathy. “Did you not listen to the story, love?” At his confusion she continued, reaching out a wrinkled hand to rest on his. “Artemis’ Locket can do many things, child, but there are three that are forbidden. Automatic wealth, death of a living being, and making someone fall in love with another.”

 

It seemed as if everything within and around him came to a stop; the beat of his heart, the flutter of his neurons, the wind outside and the chatter and movement of the pub. Every slice of his attention and being was fixed onto the woman’s widening smile, onto the sinking knowledge that all was not lost.  _ In fact _ , Draco thought,  _ I think I’ve just found everything I need.  _

 

“You mean…” he wheezed, trailing off hesitantly and licking at his suddenly dry lips. “Harry’s not under a spell?”

 

The woman chuckled. “Not involuntarily, love, no.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she spoke. “Though I wouldn’t be so quick to judge your charms. You are an extraordinary young man, Draco Malfoy. I’m grateful to have had the pleasure to have met you.” And with that, she heaved herself from the stool, the rubber of her wellies squeaking on the damp floor.

 

“Wait!” Draco rushed out, clambering after her and digging in his pockets at the same moment. She turned and met his gaze, slight surprise in her eyes as he thrust the Locket towards her. “I believe you should take this back. You, or someone else, may have use for it yet.” He startled himself with the ferocity of his grin. “I believe I’ve got everything I could ever wish for already.”

 

“Quite extraordinary,” she murmured again, taking the Locket from his hand and disappearing through the door of the Hogs’ Head.

 

“Another firewhisky?” Aberforth grunted from behind Draco, who was still staring at the door.

 

“No thank you,” he tossed over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two galleons and setting them on the bartop. Then, he rushed out the door and headed towards the castle. To Harry.

 

**& &&**

 

It was far easier for the public to enter the Hogwarts grounds than one would think, Draco acknowledged, as he passed through the wrought iron gates that led up to the school. McGonagall was either practicing great trust towards them (seeing as how Harry Potter was employed there now) or she was getting quite  _ laissez faire  _ in her old age. Either way, it worked in Draco’s favor. He made haste up the lane, wanting to get to Harry when he was alone or just in the company of Nubulan. Children weren’t exactly his cup of tea; and it was no doubt some of their parents would have rubbed their beliefs off onto their offspring and they wouldn’t see him in a positive light. Oh, how the tables had turned.

 

He walked into the Entrance Hall in a matter of minutes and took a moment to think. Harry assisted DADA and, if he wasn’t in the teachers lounge (which Draco didn’t know the location of as it had always had a habit of changing) he was most likely in the classroom of the adjoining office. And so, Draco took off in that direction. He headed towards the North Tower, passing a group of giggling Hufflepuff girls and a lone Ravenclaw boy on his way. They shot him strange looks, but otherwise ignored his presence. Draco was sure he was going to make it to the classroom without trouble, but then he almost careened into McGonagall and Professor Sinistra as he rounded a corridor.

 

McGonagall did a double take and then placed her hands on her hips. “ _ Mister  _ Malfoy! Just because you are no longer a student here, that doesn’t give you permission to run in the halls!” She scolded. 

 

“Sorry, Headmistress!” He panted half heartedly, before taking off again at a brisk walk. 

 

“Mr. Potter is in a class at the moment!” She called after him.

 

“Bollocks,” Draco muttered as he made it to the corridor and stopped outside what he remembered to be the Defense classroom door. McGonagall was correct; he could hear the gentle timbre of Harry’s voice as he gave a lecture, a students’ loud exclamation, and Harry’s bark of laughter in response. He remembered the rumors about Harry’s teaching in fifth year, about how patient and encouraging he was; not to mention, modest when it came to his own abilities. After having gotten to know him on a more personal level, Draco had no doubt that Harry was an excellent teacher and he felt a small thrill of pleasure at getting to see the man in action, if only briefly. “Here goes,” he muttered, and then he pushed open the door.

 

Harry was stood at the front of the classroom, next to a pair of Slytherin boys who couldn’t be older than Third Year. At the sound of the door, he looked up and Draco could see the surprise on his face even from where he stood. The students went quiet and stopped practicing, all turning curious eyes on Draco. He sucked in a deep breath before striding forward and coming to a stop right in front of the brunette. Harry’s eyes were the brightest shade of green behind his glasses, wide and beautiful with myriad of unknown emotions. Draco fancied he could see fondness and affection and exasperation, but he might have been reaching. “Draco, what--”

 

“I’m sorry,” Draco blurted, before Harry could get another word out. “I’m a ponce and self-centered and I’m awful at needing people and even worse when others need me. I didn’t think this would work at first, but now I do. And it does, it really does. We’re good together, you and me, despite what our past would have us believe. I think you’re one of the best people I know. You’re funny and smart and courageous and you make my head spin. You frustrate the hell out of me sometimes, but I love it.” Here, Draco paused to take a breath and gauge how Harry was taking it so far. He seemed surprised still, but pleased, if the flush rising on his cheeks was anything to go by. Draco licked his lips. “I love you, Harry. I’ve loved you since I was fourteen and I’ll love you till I’m four-hundred. So... _ yeah _ .”

 

A small chorus of  _ awws _ and giggles sounded from the back of the classroom, but silenced as someone else went  _ shush! _ “Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice the most delicious amount of breathless that sent Draco’s mind reeling. Suddenly, Harry’s face split into a wide grin and he hauled Draco in by his shoulders. The kiss was far too tame for Draco’s taste, but they were surrounded by a classroom of now tittering thirteen year olds, so he wasn’t about to complain. He went to chase Harry’s lips when the other man began to pull away, feeling them curl into a smile before Draco opened his eyes to meet green. “I love you too, you overdramatic knob,” he murmured, low enough for only Draco’s ears to hear. Then, he huffed out a little laugh. “Draco Malfoy, Grand Gesture Extraordinaire.”

 

Draco found himself laughing along. “Shut up, Potter, and come by my place when you’re off. I have things to tell you.” He backed away, students moving out of his way as he neared the door.

 

“It’s a date, Malfoy!” Harry called after him as he opened the door, giving him a wave. 

 

Draco threw a wide grin over his shoulder and then let the door close behind him. Immediately, a cacophony of noise erupted behind the door; a classroom full of curious and nosy thirteen year olds badgering Harry for details. Draco laughed and walked down the corridor. 

 

Even with a night full of explanations and apologies, the worst had already passed. He had a feeling he’d be floating through the rest of the day on cloud nine. Harry hadn’t rejected him and Draco hadn’t made a fool of himself; they had plans for that night and hopefully many nights to come.

 

All was well.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 119 Years Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here goes nothing.

Agatha Pendragon had been a young woman once; impulsive and stubborn and fraught with that foolhardy emotion love. That, others would say, was the reason she had given the Locket to the Malfoy boy in the first place. She’d walked by Curios that fateful day and his lovelorn heart had called out to her, begging her for a remedy for its pain. And she’d had the perfect antidote, right in the depths of her bag. In all the years she’d had it in her possession, she’d only ever given Artemis’ Locket to two other people. Both of which had misused the magical objects power. Agatha had blamed herself thoroughly for the consequences and vowed to only hand out the Locket to those who were deserving of using its magic and would use it responsibly. She’d known Draco Malfoy was that person from the very moment she stepped in the shop. Agatha Pendragon had been alive for far longer than any woman should be, but she had never before seen a heart so conflicted and weary with love.

 

She’d kept a careful eye on Draco, of course, mentally guiding him along when she couldn’t physically be with him. It pained her to see him so upset by the Locket, because it was supposed to help heal him; not hurt him further. Agatha had been happy to intervene when she did, once she’d learned of what Draco had planned to say to Harry Potter. Who was to know what would have happened if she hadn’t knocked some sense into the boy? Why, the world would have been missing out on a most wonderful love story, that’s what!

 

_ And a wonderful love story it had been _ , Agatha thought as she walked amongst the headstones, keeping a watchful eye on the sky. Even at this time in the early morning of November, she could see the stars twinkling down upon her. Of course, that was magic; no one’s eyes were that sharp, especially at her age!

 

She looked down once more to watch her wellie clad feet sink into damp earth, before stopping in front of a freshly disturbed patch. Agatha sighed. It’d been a pleasure to watch Draco Malfoy grow as a person, to see him love Harry Potter and be loved in return. She was more than confident that their love was strong enough to light up a thousand stars, or at least help aid the magic of a wish-granting locket; and so she reached into her pocket and pulled out the trinket. It glowed faintly in the morning light, casting rainbows onto the morning dew and Agatha’s face. She smiled down at the Locket and traced the cage that held thousands of years worth of love and happy endings. A powerful magic, indeed, was love. With a wave of her arm over the fresh grave before her, Agatha helped guide the magic into the Locket, which she clicked open with a twist of her finger. The two sources of magic collided and became one with a bright spark of pink light and Artemis’ Locket snapped shut once more, waiting for its next pair to come along and use its power to guide them along. 

 

Agatha Pendragon tucked the Cosmic Locket away once more and looked up at the gravestone before her at last.

 

_ Harry James Potter            Draco Lucius Malfoy _

_ b. 31 July 1980                    b. 5 June 1980 _

_ d. 25 September 2114            d. 18 November 2117 _

 

_ “I wish to be beside you, always.” _

 

She smiled, and waved her hand once more over the earth. “Wish granted, dear.”

 

**& &&**

 

Somewhere, sometime, Draco Malfoy stepped off a train into a gleaming white Kings Cross Station. He didn’t panic; he wasn’t afraid. He knew where he was and why he was here and who was here waiting for him. Across the platform, Harry smiled and extended a hand towards him. Draco smiled back and slowly made his way towards him; he needn’t hurry, they had all the time in the world. He placed his hand in Harry’s and, together, they turned towards the shining brilliance of the distance before walking off, side by side, as they would remain forevermore. 

 

_ the end _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crow, so this is the end!
> 
> Words cannot describe how incredibly thankful I am to you all for sticking with me through this wild ride of a story. There were many times I thought for sure I wasn’t going to finish it, but I’m so glad I did. Draco and Harry wouldn’t have deserved to be left behind like that.
> 
> In case you were wondering, I do have a playlist for this story, but it’s not up on Spotify or 8tracks or any place like that. So, I will leave a list of the songs I listened to whilst writing blame it on the stardust. Most of them are 90s songs, because that’s when this story takes place.
> 
> Hymn- Kesha (the source of the title for the story)  
> Only You- Yazoo  
> Tearin’ Up My Heart- NSYNC  
> Friday I’m In Love- The Cure  
> My Own Worst Enemy- Lit  
> Big Yellow Taxi- Joni Mitchell  
> You Get What You Give- New Radicals  
> Hold On- Wilson Phillips  
> Ants Marching- Dave Matthews Band  
> Run Around- Blues Traveller  
> Name- Goo Goo Dolls  
> Got You Where I Want You- The Fly’s  
> Wild- Troye Sivan
> 
> If you were also wondering, I will be back with more Harry/Draco fics in the future! I am currently in the process of planning one out and hope to start posting it within the next month or two.
> 
> Thank you again for sticking with this story. I love you all! 
> 
> Annie xx


End file.
